


Man's Best Friend

by JeromeSankara, lynna21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Bisexuality, Divorced Rick Grimes, Dog Fighting, M/M, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Past Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rickyl Writers' Group
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-06-20 06:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 103,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeSankara/pseuds/JeromeSankara, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynna21/pseuds/lynna21
Summary: Rick's life has been stagnant ever since his and Lori’s bitter divorce. Wake up, get coffee, go to work, go home, talk to Carl, go to bed. Repeat, ad nauseam. When a chance encounter leads to Rick discovering a dog fighting ring, however, his life won’t be the only one that changes forever.





	1. Endless Cycle

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Ugh…”

It took four tries, but Rick finally slammed his fist down on the alarm clock. He hated morning shifts. There was rarely anything exciting to do other than watch Shane burn his tongue on his coffee three times in a row before it finally woke him up. Cracking open one bleary eye, he sighed. 5AM was too early for _anyone_.

He had been trying to pick up more shifts, lately. Try to use the time he was away from Carl, and put it towards something good.

He laid in bed for a few minutes, watching the red digits change on the clock, before he managed to pull his aching body out of bed. Maybe Shane could handle the driving today…

After a quick shower, he tossed some pop-tarts into the toaster, and downed some orange juice that was dangerously close to its expiration date. Because Rick liked to live his life on the edge. Snatching the pastries once they popped to the surface, he swore at the heat that burned his fingertips. At some point, he would learn to let the damn things cool down before grabbing them with his bare hands. He was as bad as Shane with his coffee.

Stuffing his face, Rick jogged his way out to his car and hopped inside. Maybe something exciting would be waiting for him today. More than likely, though, he would just sit in the patrol car with Shane, who would still be talking about whatever hot girl he’d picked up from the bar the night before.

He thumped his head lightly on the steering wheel, and groaned. His life was just _great._

* * *

Sure enough, absolutely nothing worth mentioning had happened by the time hour six of their twelve hour shift rolled around. Well, with the exception of watching Shane try to hit on a girl that was so out of his range, she might as well have been the sun, and get spectacularly rebuffed. That had led to a good ten minute giggling fit that Rick had not been too proud to indulge in. Anything that could knock a bit of cockiness out of his partner, he was all for.

“You know, I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you,” Shane grumbled from the driver’s seat, his arms folded petulantly across his chest. “At least I’m trying. Unlike _some_ people I know.”

Rick rolled his eyes, and continued to let out little giggles, the occasional snort sneaking its way in, as well. “I’ve told you a million times, dude, I’m not interested. After all the shit Lori put me through, and the shit she _continues_ to put me through just to see Carl, I don’t have time for anything else.”

“Oh, come on, Rick. I know Lori is a bitch, but you shouldn’t let that stop you from getting laid. When’s the last time you even came _close_ to getting some?”

“Six months before Lori decided she wanted a divorce, if you really have to know.”

Shane’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Tell me it’s not true! That’s like…” He scrunched up his face, and rubbed a hand across his closely cropped hair. “Two and a half years. Damn.”

Looking Rick up and down, a serious expression on his face, Shane asked, “Your dick didn’t fall off, did it? I think if I didn’t get me some tail _at least_ once a week, mine would shrivel up and fall off. Think dying of starvation, but from a dick’s point of view.”

“Not all of us are giant whores, Shane. I don’t need to get laid. I need to work. Save money. Spend time with Carl.” Rick shook his head. “You know, Carl asked me if he could take an art class this summer. I said sure, as long as his mom was okay with it. Lori apparently outright vetoed the idea. I got the impression that words like unmasculine were used. Jesus Christ, Carl’s only nine, what the fuck does he know about masculinity?”

“You’re arty, and I’d say you’re pretty masculine,” Shane said, looking Rick over critically. “You’ve got a nice ass.”

Rick looked at him blankly. “What?”

Shane shrugged. “When you took up with that dude in high school, what was his name?”

“Paul. But everyone called him Jesus for some reason. Maybe it was the sandals, and the constant smell of patchouli.”

“Yeah, him. When you started banging him, I did a little self reflection.”

Rick cocked an eyebrow. Of all the things he knew about Shane, he never would’ve pegged him as being a man who would partake in, or even know about, self reflection.

“Gimme a break. I may not be the smartest guy out there, but I do know some things. I hung on the psychology teacher’s every word back in high school,” Shane grinned.

“Yeah,” Rick snorted, rolling his eyes, “Because she was a recent graduate, and she liked to do aerobics alongside the first period gym class.”

“Maybe it was her rockin’ bod that got me interested in the first place, but the end result was me actually learning some stuff, okay?”

Rick shrugged. “Whatever you say, man. Self reflection. Go.”

Looking momentarily confused, Shane shook his head, and continued. “Right, self reflection. I saw you and Paul together, and I did some thinking. And while I’m not really into guys like that, I can totally appreciate someone that’s hot. It’s like, my speciality.”

Rick stared at Shane, waiting for more to come from his mouth, but all he got was a sly grin. “That's it?” Rick asked bluntly, squinting back at his partner. “That's your big ‘reflection’? That you can appreciate a good ass?”

Shane threw his hands up, a dejected look on his face. “Hey, man, I won't judge! That's all I'm saying! If you ever dated a dude, the only thing I _would_ judge is his ass.”

“Shane!” Rick groaned loudly, sinking into his seat and covering his face with his hands. Of all the things he expected to talk about in the patrol car… A part of him just wanted Shane to talk about whatever girl he was screwing that week.

“I'm just saying!” Shane repeated, shrugging his shoulders up high. “Do you even know how to fuck anymore? How to flirt? Do you need to practice?”

“Shane, I told you, I don't-"

“You can practice on me! Here, pretend we're at a bar, I just sat down next to you-"

“Shane, I'm not doing this!”

“-I’m a little tipsy but nothing too heavy-"

_“Shane!”_

_“Rick!”_ Shane grinned back at him, trying hard to contain his laughter. “See, I can yell names, too!”

“You’re such an asshole,” Rick huffed, hunching down in his seat.

“Never denied it.”

“You get off on it.”

“Maybe. Isn’t that my right as an American? As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else?”

“Not when you annoy the shit out of me in the process.”

Rick rolled the window down and threw his empty Gatorade bottle in the trash can that sat a couple feet away from their parked patrol car. This conversation was leading to all sorts of questions he had no desire to answer. Sure, he missed having someone to curl up next to at night. Someone to keep him warm. But, that just couldn’t be his priority right now. He had too much other shit going on to put in the work that a relationship required.

Slapping his open palm against Rick’s shoulder, Shane let out a little cheer when the bottle went into the trash. “You’re getting much better at that. Make one out of every six or seven now.”

Rick snickered. “Better than your success rate with women.”

“Now that was _rude!_ ’ Shane scoffed, punching Rick in the arm. “Can't compete with your record, though. Your _hand_ just can't get enough of you!”

“I am _very_ good with my hands. Jealous they’re not on you?” Rick grinned, arching an eyebrow.

Shane scoffed, but Rick could swear he saw the smallest hint of a blush on his cheeks. “You fucking _wish_ you could have this,” Shane laughed, gesturing to his uniformed body.

Rick only wrinkled his nose playfully, shaking his head and rousing another laugh from Shane. He chuckled along, hoping his own slight blush was disguised.

His partner finally calmed down enough to clear his throat, glancing to the dash. They still had a few minutes on break before they needed to head to the highway.

“So Lori is being a bitch about Carl wanting to draw?” Shane asked, raising an eyebrow, though it surprised Rick that he’d even paid that much attention to the conversation.

“She’s never had a problem with it before. I think it’s more about me than it is about Carl.” Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Rick let out a long breath. “It’s like she thinks if we have too much in common, he’ll love me more than he does her.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Rick continued, “Lori can be a giant bitch, but she’s usually a pretty good mom. She’s actively interested in Carl’s life, and his education, but not too intense about it. You know what I mean?”

Shane nodded, picking up his fountain drink and taking a quick sip. “Yeah, she's like an alpha wolf. So, a bitch.” Shane grinned back at Rick, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

“Pretty much,” Rick said, running a hand through his lengthening curls. Lori had alway been adamant that he keep his hair short. Much shorter than he normally liked it. One of the first things he’d decided to do after moving out, was quit cutting his hair. Partially to annoy the shit out of Lori, but mostly… Aw, hell. It was mostly to annoy Lori. That he preferred his hair this way was just a side benefit.

The radio crackled to life. _“Control to Adam Two-One.”_

Picking up the transmitter, Rick responded, “Two-One, go ahead.”

_“We’ve got a report of some kind of a wounded or dead animal at 573 East Colonial Drive, please respond.”_

“Roger that, en route.”

Hooking the handset back onto the side of the radio, Rick looked over at Shane and nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Aw, man. I don’t know if I can handle another dead dog.” Shane rubbed at his hair again. “That shit is depressing.”

“I know,” Rick said softly, rubbing against the slight beard he was trying to grow. Lori hated the beard almost as much as the long hair. If he grew it out enough, though, he thought it would look good.

Letting out a long sigh, Shane put the car into gear, and pulled out of the parking lot. “This is the third one this week and it's only Tuesday,” he muttered.

“Let's just hope it isn't someone's pet this time.”

* * *

It was.

A German Shepherd puppy, barely three months old. He’d gone missing out of someone's yard a week ago and had been found nearly two miles away, absolutely demolished. Even after all his years as a sheriff, seeing car wrecks and murders, Rick had almost vomited. There was something different about knowing an innocent animal suffered so much.

It obviously hadn’t been an easy death, and the body had been brought here to be disposed of. It had been a dog attack, but the poor thing had duct tape around its muzzle. Someone was doing this on purpose. The worst part was that it had been happening for a couple months now. Rick would put his money on it being gang related, though he hadn’t heard of anything like that in this area before.

Rick groaned under his breath as he collapsed onto his sofa. He’d barely had the energy to strip out of his uniform, and crawl into pajama pants instead. It had been a very long day, and while he wished for nothing more than to fall asleep, he had something to do first.

Picking up his cell phone, Rick frowned at the screen. He really wasn’t very fond of the stupid thing, but who _didn’t_ have one these days? After a solid year of complaints from his son, Shane, and Lori, he’d given in. Didn’t mean he liked it, however.

Dialing the familiar number, Rick tapped his fingers impatiently against the arm of the couch while it rang.

_“Dad! Guess what!”_

Humming softly, Rick felt the tension from his long day start to drain out of his body. “What’s up, buddy? Get another A on a test?”

Carl laughed, a sound that caused Rick’s body to melt even deeper into the cushions. _“No, I got a science project. And guess who I'm paired up with?”_ Carl's excitement was infectious.

“Hmm,” Rick said, a grin growing on his face. “It wouldn’t be Enid, would it?”

The squeal that Carl probably tried to pass off as not being his was, frankly, adorable. _“Yes! We're going to her house to work on a volcano!”_

“That sounds awesome!” Rick grinned even wider, staring up at the ceiling and concentrating on his son’s voice. “You remember what your mother said, though. Always treat a lady like a queen.”

 _“Geez, Dad, I know.”_ Rick could almost see Carl’s eyes roll through the phone. At nine years old, Rick was now pretty much classified as a giant dork in Carl’s eyes. The moments when Carl would take anything he said at face value, just because Rick was his father, were past them now.

“Doesn’t hurt to get a reminder now and then.”

Another groan from his son, and then silence. Which was fine. It was like they were just sitting in the living room, relaxing. It was one of the things he missed the most; just being in his son's presence.

 _“Mom still said no,”_ Carl murmured, his voice downcast and it immediately sent a shard of glass into Rick’s heart.

Rick sighed, and rubbed a finger across his temple. “I’ll talk to her. We’ll figure it out, I promise. If she keeps saying no, I’ll just give you lessons myself, okay? You and me, class of one.”

 _“Really?”_ Carl asked, his voice quiet. _“I don't want you to fight.”_

Rick rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying to hold back some harsh words about Lori. Words that were becoming harder and harder to hold back. He’d just spent too many nights on the couch, they’d had too many screaming matches, and it was just… Just too much.

The love between them had died not long after Carl was born. Rick had only held on as long as he had _for_ Carl. It was probably a mistake. Now his son had a lot of memories Rick wished he didn’t.

“Don't worry about that, buddy. That's adult stuff.”

 _“Dad,”_ Carl said, drawing out the ‘a’ much longer than Rick thought was really necessary. _“I’m not a little kid anymore. You can tell me more stuff.”_

“I tell you all the things you need to know. You’re going to have to trust me on that.”

Carl sighed, again. _“Fine,”_ he whined.

Glancing up at the clock, Rick frowned. Lori would have dinner on the table any minute, now. The last thing he wanted Carl to suffer through was a scolding for making her ‘wait.’

“Hey, buddy, I think I'm gonna have to let you go.”

_“Yeah, I know.”_

Rick wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel at the disappointment in Carl’s voice. “I'll be here when you're done. You can text me. But _not_ at the dinner table.”

Disconnecting the call, Rick set his cell down onto the coffee table, and propped his elbows on his knees. His stomach growled at him angrily, and he tried to decide if he was hungry enough to move.

By the third rumble, Rick gave into his stomachs demands and dragged himself off of the couch. He chose to ignore the popping sounds and the stiffness in his joints. It had just been a long day.

Pulling open the freezer, Rick frowned. He needed to go grocery shopping again. All he had was two Hungry Man microwavable meals, a third of a pint of butterscotch ice cream, and pizza rolls. While the idea of sitting on the couch with the tub of ice cream was extremely tempting, he relented and grabbed a microwavable meal.

Salisbury steak, or so the box told him. Rick couldn't tell. It all tasted rubbery to him after it took a trip through his microwave. But he stifled his complaints, not that there was anyone around to listen, and polished off his meal within fifteen minutes, having decided to just set the tray on the counter rather than walk all the way to the dining room.

This house sometimes seemed much too big. It was two stories, two bedrooms and two baths. The only reason he’d bought it at all was because a murder had taken place here about six years ago. It was hard to sell a house after that, so he got it for a song.

It even had a spacious backyard, something he’d come to enjoy when he would have his weeks with Carl. They would toss around a baseball, or play one on one soccer. There was even a park down the street, not that Carl was very big on parks anymore.

Carl of course had his own room, and with some help from Rick, it was just as comfortable at his room back at Lori’s. He was free to invite friends over, have little slumber parties (Carl refused to call them that anymore), but when Carl wasn't here…

It was just felt empty.

Maybe Shane was right, and he should start seeing someone.

Shelving that thought for another day, Rick grabbed the pint of ice cream out of the freezer, and plopped onto the couch to watch television. He flicked through random courtroom dramas and various sports, only to get bored soon after his ice cream was gone

Picking his sketchbook up off the coffee table, he worked on finishing up the drawing he’d promised a friend over a month ago. After about an hour, he pronounced the drawing finished--he’d never seen a better looking dragon in his life--and put his pencils and sketchbook away.

Yawning into his hand, Rick picked up the remote, and scrolled through the channels once again, finally landing on a channel that was marathoning some old westerns. He’d loved The Lone Ranger as a kid. He and his father had spent hours in front of the tv watching old episodes.

His eyelids started drooping almost immediately, and after about half an episode, he had already fallen asleep. Another boring day completed, and another set to begin tomorrow.


	2. Scrappy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day on the job, but maybe a trip to Carol's bakery could throw off a bit of that stagnation. It's there that Rick learns about a certain visiter in Carol's alleyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is going to be sporadic at best with the updates. Lynna will soon be diving into World of Warcraft, and Jerome is... doing whatever Jerome does. While we do have the fic completed, we are taking our time with the editing process. Either way, please enjoy an update on the house!

Today, pop-tarts, and shitty instant coffee were not going to do the trick.

Rick called the station as he slid into the seat of his patrol car. If he walked in there with anything from The Red Wagon Bakery without something for everyone else to eat as well, they were likely to kill him. After several minutes, Rick hung up the phone, and looked at the long list of requests in his hand. Carol was going to just  _ love _ him. Coming in during her rush, and asking for more than fifteen different things? Yeah. Maybe Rick should have just stuffed whatever pastry caught his fancy into his mouth on the way to work. But, no. Carol’s pastries deserved to be savored. His mouth was watering just thinking about them.

One leisurely drive later, he was parking in front of the bakery. As he got out, Rick stuck his nose into the air, and inhaled deeply. God, even the air smelled good.

Pushing open the door, he was greeted by a slightly harried looking Carol. She popped her head up over the partition that separated the seating area from the rest of the shop.

“Rick, I love you, and I always enjoy seeing you, but if that piece of paper in your hand is an order from the sheriff’s station, I just might kill you.”

Rick swallowed. Even if Carol looked frail, thin and dainty, she knew a few key movements that could drop a man to his knees. Looking down at his list, Rick glanced back up with a sheepish grin.

“I'm sorry, darlin’,” Rick said, crossing the bakery to meet her. “If it's any help, you can take your time. They can deal with waiting if you need to take a breath.”

Carol tried her best not to scowl, but she reached out and took the paper from Rick’s outstretched hand. “Oh. These won’t be too hard,” she murmured, tilting her head. “I had a feeling you'd come so I made a few extras.”

Rick blinked. “So…you're not gonna kill me?”

“Not if you go say hello to Sophia. She's been  _ dying  _ to see you,” Carol said with a smile, something that lifted Rick’s heart no matter how often he saw it. She turned around and stepped back behind the counter, gesturing for Rick to follow.

It didn't feel like it was that long ago that Carol was the opposite of this spritely woman.

Rick had never liked Carol’s ex-husband Ed. Always got a horrible feeling around him, a chill riding up his spine. The way he spat and cursed at his family, dragging their names through the mud. 

Lori had taken it upon herself to befriend Carol after they’d been thrown together during a bake sale at Carl’s preschool, having known immediately that something wasn’t right. They started with friendly chats, and moved on to playdates between Sophia and Carl. Soon enough, Carol started letting her guard down. 

Rick had never been more proud of Lori. 

One afternoon, when Lori and Carol were alone at the house, Carl and Sophia playing quietly in Carl’s room, Ed’s car had screeched to a halt in the driveway. Lori stood her ground, refusing to let Ed anywhere near Carol or Sophia, so Ed had rammed his car into the mailbox. When Rick had gotten the call down at the station that Lori was pressing charges against Ed for property damage, Rick had brought her home a bouquet of roses.

It took a few more incidents and Lori’s constant coaxing before Carol decided to leave him for good. Lori worked hard with Carol in the aftermath. She and Rick invited Carol and her daughter to stay with them until she got back onto her feet. And now, Carol was an entirely different woman. Business at her shop was booming, and they lived in the cozy apartment directly above.

“Is she upstairs?” Rick asked, holding up the rolled up sketch he’d brought in from his car. “I finished that drawing of Hiccup and Toothless she asked for.” 

“She’ll be thrilled. I think she’s been saving a special spot on her bedroom wall to hang it.”

Rick followed Carol up the stairs, and into the apartment, smiling widely when he saw Sophia wrapped up in blankets on the couch with, if his nose was right, a glass of Carol’s famous hot chocolate.

“What’s up, bug?” Rick asked, plopping down on the sofa beside her, and trying to steal the cup out of her hand.

“Nooo, it’s mine,” Sophia whined, holding the cup up, and out of Rick’s reach. “Mommy, make Rick his own hot chocolate so he doesn’t steal mine!”

“Rick has his own order,” Carol smiled, her eyes shining brightly in the sunlight that was pouring in through the window. “Speaking of Rick’s order, I need to get back downstairs. Poor Amy is probably getting overwhelmed.”

Aiming a stern look at Sophia, Carol pointed a finger at her. “You need to start getting ready for school in fifteen minutes, young lady,” she said. “You’re going to have to leave a bit early today, I don’t have time to drive you. Okay?”

“Okay, Mommy, I’ll be ready.”

Rick chuckled under his breath, knowing that Sophia would drag her heels like always. At least the school was close, and Lori picked her up if the weather was ever unfortunate. Even through the divorce, that was something that stayed constant; their care for Carol and Sophia.

If only it was that easy with Carl.

Carol headed back downstairs, and Rick rested his elbows on his knees. “I’ve got something for you,” he said with a smile, holding out the sketch.

Immediately, Sophia gasped, almost dropping her hot chocolate on the carpet. Judging by the old stains, it was a normal occurrence. “Thank you!” she squealed, just barely managing to set her cup down properly before grabbing the paper and unrolling it.

She beamed, taking in every detail. “I love it! It's _ so  _ cute!” she giggled, peering closer at the details of the dragon. “When are you gonna teach me to draw like that?”

Sophia always asked for lessons. Even though she was barely ten, she still tried her best to match Rick’s level of skill--skill that had taken him  _ years _ to obtain--only to be disappointed when her drawings didn't come out the way she wished.

Giving her hair a quick ruffle with his hand, Rick smiled. “Soon, I promise. Maybe on the weekend.” Weekends were his only times to do anything nowadays. He would pick up Carl on Sunday afternoon, just like always when his week rolled around, per their custody agreement. Rick was adamant that he and Lori would be equally present in Carl's life, no matter how much Lori feared that Carl may somehow start to favor one of them over the other. 

“How about you give your mom a big surprise, and get yourself ready early. Maybe she’ll have something special waiting for you when you go downstairs, since you’ll have time to eat it.”

Sophia’s eyes widened, like she’d never thought of that, and she scrambled to get out from underneath the blanket. “That’s a good idea!” she yelled, holding the rolled up drawing close to her chest like it was precious. “Thanks, Rick!”

“Anytime, bug. Anytime.”

Getting up from the couch, Rick headed back down to the shop, inhaling the scents of coffee, cinnamon and sugar from the air. God, it smelled so good in here. There had been suggestions down at the station, mainly from Michonne, that just breathing in the air in Carol’s bakery could cause you to gain weight. 

“I think Sophia just might be ready on time today,” he called out to Carol, who was busy filling up a box with pastries. “She’ll be expecting a bribe when she comes downstairs.”

As he was making his way out from behind the counter, Rick noticed a bag of dog food sitting off to the side. Turning back towards Carol, he asked, “What’s with the dog food? You putting that in your pastries now?”

Carol flushed for a moment, only to shake her head. “No, no, nothing like that.” Setting down the box, she stripped off her gloves and tossed them into the trash. “Here, I'll show you.”

Shifting to let Carol past him, Rick watched as she used a small tupperware container to scoop up a moderate portion of the kibble. She led Rick to the back door and held it open for him.

“Sophia saw a dog out here a couple months ago. He was digging through the dumpster for scraps.” Carol walked out into the alley behind the shop, and motioned to a large plastic bin with a hole cut into the side. It was weighed down with a few bags of old flour on top, and had a couple blankets covering the alley floor.

“She called him Scrappy. Poor thing hasn't had the kindest of lives.” She knelt down and pointed inside the makeshift doghouse, to two bowls. On one, ‘Scrappy’ was written in Sophia’s messy handwriting.

Glancing back up at Rick, she dumped the kibble inside the bowl. “The poor thing was so thin. So we made it our little project to give him a nice place to sleep at night. He's still a bit skittish, but he’s starting to warm up to Sophia. Maybe, with time, we can take him in properly.”

“Carol,” started Rick, frowning, “You shouldn’t let Sophia be around a strange dog. Who knows what kind of temperament it has? She could get bitten, and what if it has rabies or something?”

Rick tilted his head to the side, his brain spinning in a million directions at once--thoughts of tearing down their little doghouse and making sure no stray took a bite out of Sophia the most prevalent. “Even if the dog isn’t normally vicious, what if Sophia pets it in the wrong place, or tugs on some kind of wound or injury it has?” 

Obviously not expecting this reaction from Rick, Carol dropped her head. “She's never out here by herself. She just sees it outside her window and she gets so upset. She even started sneaking out her own food to feed him.”

Carol reached in and pulled out the second bowl, one that was still half full of water. “He hasn't been here in a couple weeks. I don't know how to tell her, yet, if it's gone for good. Maybe I'll take her to the shelter.”

“Might be good for her, a dog of her own,” Rick said, eying Carol meaningfully. “A dog that won’t possibly hurt her.”

Pulling Carol back towards the door to the bakery, Rick sighed. “I didn’t really want to spread this around, but I don’t think it can be helped. There’s been several dogs found mauled to death in the last few days. Most of them were stolen directly from people’s yards.”

Carol gasped, and put a hand up to cover her mouth.

“Yeah. It hasn’t been pretty. We found a big pit bull the other day. It had staples holding some old wounds shut. That’s a pretty big tell. Someone is running a fighting ring. And dumping the losers and bait dogs when they get killed.”

Perhaps he said a bit much, judging by the pale look on Carol’s face. But she quickly shook herself, trying to push away the mental image. “That's horrible,” she whispered. She cast her gaze back over to the empty doghouse, and swallowed.

“Uhm… Scrappy had some old scars on him. He's a big grayish blue hound dog, pale, big blue eyes. Has dark splotches scattered all over his coat. Have you found anything like that?” Carol looked back up at Rick from the corner of her eyes, her shoulders drooping.

Rick shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.” He patted Carol’s shoulder, and then pulled her in for a quick hug. “I’ll keep an eye out. If you see him around, please don’t try and approach him, okay? Call Animal Control, or call the station.”

Carol let out a shaky breath, pulling her arms from around Rick’s shoulders. “Okay. I'll tell Sophia to let me know. She's upset that she hasn't seen him.” When Rick loosened his grasp, she stepped back. Carol managed to flash an empty smile, and added, “Who knows. Maybe he's already got a home, or he's at the shelter right now.”

“I’m sure that’s what happened,” Rick assured her, even though he was anything but. If Carol and Sophia hadn’t seen the dog for weeks, chances were it had gotten picked up by whoever was putting on these fights. 

“Alright,” Carol said, her smile still obviously forced. “Let’s go get your order, huh? I bet Amy has it all finished now.”

“Lead the way.”

* * *

The good news, his patrol was mostly ordinary work, with a thankful lack of dead pets. The bad news? Rick was bored out of his mind.

He didn't even have Shane to talk to today, with him having to catch up on paperwork that he should have done weeks ago. It left Rick slumped in the driver's seat, listening to chatter on the radio and holding his radar gun. 

58… 61… 60… 62…

Rick wondered if anyone would find out if he just curled up and slept for the rest of his shift.

During a momentary pause in traffic, Rick felt a buzzing at his side. Jumping, he glanced down to the phone still in his pocket. Who would be calling him at this time? It was past two, nearing three.

Suspicious, he took out his phone and looked at the screen. Lori. He immediately thought of something happening to Carl, and had his phone open and answered in a split second.

“Lori? What's wrong?” he asked, his tone firm.

_ “Nothing is wrong, I just called to tell you that you need to pick up Carl, and take him to his soccer practice.” _

Rick clenched his teeth, and he could already feel the headache creeping up behind his forehead. “Lori, I can’t just leave work. I’m in the middle of my shift.”

_ “You’re the one who said you wanted to spend more time with him. Whenever I try to help you do that, you always say no. So typical,” _ she spat, her voice laced with venom. 

And so it began.

This was one thing that divorce only made worse. The arguments about Carl. “That's not it, I  _ can't.  _ I'm alone, no one is going to cover my shift,” Rick grumbled, leaning his head into his hand and rubbing at his temple. He prayed for God to give him strength...

_ “He's your  _ son,  _ Rick. You can't make time for him just this once?” _

Biting back a growl, Rick's hand tightened on his phone. No, calm down. Don't make a scene out of this. “I'm sorry. I can't pick him up for practice. If you could have  _ told  _ me ahead of time, then I could have tried to ask my boss-"

_ “That's all you care about. Work. Impressing your boss. Don't think I didn't realize you got that deputy position the  _ moment  _ we divorced. You can't  _ possibly  _ think I didn’t notice all those late nights at work!”  _

“I got that deputy position because I’d been working my ass off to get it!” Rick snapped, before forcing himself to take a long, calming breath. After a moment of deep breathing, he continued. “I worked really hard for my promotion. The one you hounded me about trying for for  _ months. _ And if you would have let me know in advance, I would have gladly picked Carl up, but you  _ didn’t. _ I’m sitting in my patrol car, alone, on the side of the road. No one can cover me, and since I like having money, and  _ you _ like having my money, I’m not going to jeopardize my job because you forgot you had a fucking hair appointment or something.”

Lori gasped on the other end, and Rick’s stomach sank. Maybe he’d gone a bit too far.

_ “This is  _ exactly  _ why we got divorced! I'm not going to have you belittle me because I'm in between jobs right now! I'll have you know that I'm doing my best to find something that still lets me take care of  _ our  _ son when  _ you're  _ too busy to!” _

The retort sitting on his tongue about how she hadn’t worked a day since Carl had turned two, was hushed as Lori continued.

_ “Fine, I'll have my mother pick him up. She at least enjoys having Carl around!” _ Barely a breath after her final words, Lori hung up.

“Shit,” Rick cursed, banging his head softly on the steering wheel. He was definitely going to pay for that. He’d probably only get his exact, down to the minute, court mandated time with Carl for at least the next two weeks. If not longer.

Lori knew how to push every single one of his buttons, and she did it mercilessly. If he was honest with himself, though, it was worth a relatively passionless, and dreary marriage if it got him a son as amazing as Carl. Maybe he’d stop by the school sometime this week. Carl used to love it when Rick would surprise him by showing up to eat lunch with him. And this way, he’d get a little time with his son without Lori breathing down his neck.

Rick didn’t raise his head again until his radar gun beeped shrilly. 69MPH. He would appreciate the exact number later. For now, he simply sighed in relief.

Finally. Maybe this would make his day more interesting.

* * *

By the time his shift had ended, Rick had come across two drunks, and heard through the radio about three more dead animals. One was hit by a car. Another was a pit bull with similar suspicious scarring, and the last…

A goddamn miniature Pinscher.

Rick needed a drink. Even if it was one that wasn't alcoholic.

Pulling up to Carol’s bakery, he slumped back down into his seat and rubbed a hand across his face. There had never been gang activity in this side of town. Why  _ here  _ of all places was there dog fighting? Rick had thought the “sport” was dying out.

Taking a deep breath, Rick stepped out of his car, and headed for the shop. His mind was completely focused on getting some sort of caffeine into his body, as quickly as possible. Which is why he almost missed the scraping sounds coming from the little alley beside Carol’s shop.

Stopping, he cocked his head to the side and listened. It sounded like someone or some _ thing _ was pushing around the garbage cans that were stored out there. Walking around the corner slowly, his hand on his gun, just in case, he called out, “Carol? Is that you?”

There was a loud bang as one of the garbage cans tipped over, and Rick just barely got a glimpse of a large grey blur running around the corner. 

The bakery’s side door burst open, and Sophia barrelled out into the alley, yelling, “Scrappy! Mom, I saw him!”

Skidding to a halt several feet down the alley, Sophia’s face fell. “Where’d he go?”

Carol walked up behind her, and lay a hand on her shoulder. “He probably got scared. You know he doesn’t like a lot of loud noise. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

Rick’s gaze sharpened on something he spotted father down the alley. “Carol, take Sophia inside.”

Raising startled eyes to Rick, and putting a hand to her chest, Carol laughed. “Oh my god, Rick, you scared the hell out of me! When did you get here?”

“Just a minute ago. I saw your stray, I think.” Lowering his voice, he pointed to a large red smear on the brick where he’d seen the dog disappear. “I think he might be…” He let his voice trail off, not wanting to alarm Sophia, and by the look on Carol’s face, she understood.

“Come on, baby, let’s go inside,” Carol said, gently guiding Sophia back towards the shop. “You’ve got homework to finish.”

“But Mom!”

“Sophia Anne Peletier, what did I just say?”

Her face mutinous, Sophia stomped back into the store. 

Once the two women were back in the shop, Rick made his way down the alley, his eyes scanning the ground for more blood, or anything else the dog might have left behind. When he rounded the corner, he looked intently at the multiple nooks and crannies that the animal could have hidden in. Shaking his head, Rick turned around, and made his way back to Carol’s bakery. It was getting dark. There was no way Rick was going to chance looking for a wounded, possibly vicious dog in a dark alley. He liked his limbs intact, thanks very much.

Defeated, Rick abandoned the alleyway and stepped inside the shop through the back door. Already there waiting for him were Carol and Sophia, with the latter still obviously offended that she had been sent inside in the first place.

“I couldn't find him,” Rick said, watching Sophia’s sulk set in further. Glancing back at Carol, he knew she was wondering if this was a cover, and if the stray was actually too injured to let Sophia see. “He must have jumped a gate or squeezed in somewhere tight.”

Rick was already damn sure that the dog probably wasn't in good enough condition to start jumping fences, but it had sprinted away from him surprisingly fast. Could be some sort of greyhound blood. It looked slim, but that could just be the lack of food.

Carol nodded, and turned to kneel down in front of Sophia. “Sweetie, I know you want to go find him, but I think, for right now, you need to stay away from the alley.” She glanced back at Rick, and he smiled slightly, before giving her a quick nod.

“Rick and I think that maybe the dog is hurt, and sometimes hurt dogs don’t behave so well. They get scared, and when they get like that, sometimes they can be a little mean.”

“Sort of like how I was when I broke my arm? I didn’t want anyone to touch me, and I yelled at you even though Da-” Sophia stopped talking and looked down at her feet.

Rick flinched. That was the night he had finally managed to get Carol out of that house for good. She took a lot of abuse from Ed, but the moment that abuse was turned on her daughter, out she went.

“Oh, honey,” Carol whispered, drawing Sophia in for a tight hug. “You never have to worry about  anything like that ever again, okay? I promise.”

Rick walked forward and knelt down next to Carol. “I’ll add my promise to that. And if you ever feel like you need help, you know how to call me on that little cell phone I got for you. Day or night, right?”

Sniffing, and wiping the back of her arm across her nose, Sophia nodded. “I know. I’m not a baby.”

“I know, bug,” Rick soothed, running a hand through her hair and giving her a small smile. “You're a big girl, and you're very strong. Now we just need you to be strong enough to stay inside.”

Glancing back to Carol, Rick moved back up to his feet with a sigh. “If you see him again, call me or the station. If I'm close enough, I can get help from people who are really good with stray animals. And I'll make sure that Scrappy will be okay. Deal?”

Sophia let out a sigh, staring down at her feet, but gave a small nod.

“Good.” Glancing behind him, Rick frowned. It was past his time to call Carl, but he would be at soccer practice anyway. “I think it's about time for me to head on home.”

“If you want to stop by in the morning, I’ll have a box of pastries ready to take to work with you.”

Rick groaned. “I’m going to gain so much weight, and it’s going to be all your fault.”

Carol grinned, and bumped Rick’s elbow. “I think you could use a little fattening up, sheriff. You’re looking too skinny lately.”

Scoffing, Rick made his way to the exit, waving at Sophia and Carol as he walked out the door.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of his house, and dropped his head on the steering wheel with a sigh. Another night alone with the TV, his sketchbook, and something that tasted like cardboard. He could hardly wait.


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started as an average patrol at the more dangerous side of town. It ended with anything but average.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains violence and the aftermath of animal abuse.

“Where the  _ fuck  _ have you been, man?!”

Shane's loud voice was not exactly pleasant for Rick to hear the second he burst through the station’s double doors. Barely able to suck in a breath, Rick held out the box of pastries that Carol had been kind enough to have ready for him to pick up.

Rick should have known better than to start watching the Lord of the Rings marathon on TV. He only meant to watch the first one. Then the first turned into the second, and into the third, and he fell asleep at around 3AM. Which meant he slept through his alarm, which meant he was late.

That didn't explain was the sudden tense energy in the station, however. Phones were ringing off the hook, poor Aaron trying his noble best to get to each in turn, but not having much luck. Cops were rushing out to squad cars, and others were already gone. What was the emergency? 

Before he could pant out his question, Shane, whose face was now a deep red, stomped up to him. “There was a robbery at the bank on the north side! Armed! And we fucking  _ missed it!” _

Rick blinked. Oh. Yeah. That was the area where they were supposed to be patrolling. They had been increasing patrols because of the rise in gang activity on that side, but they were getting more daring than Rick expected if they hit the bank.

“Fucking Michonne and Abraham took over  _ our  _ shift and got all the goddamn action! That could have been  _ us!” _

“I-I’m sorry, I, uh, was grabbing the pastries, and…” Ricks excuse, or lie, he hasn't decided what he was going to say yet, fell flat under Shane's glare. He swallowed, practically sinking into the ground.

Throwing his hands in the air, Shane closed the distance and yanked the box out of Rick’s grasp. “Now we gotta do the  _ highway  _ shift. Thanks.” 

Opening it, Shane angrily stuffed an apple fritter into his mouth. The one Shane  _ knew  _ Rick was saving for himself. “C’mon,” he growled through his stuffed mouth, setting the box down on the counter where Aaron was still drowning in phone calls.

Still chewing on the fritter, he bumped his shoulder against Rick’s as he stomped out the doors and towards the cruiser. “And I get to choose the radio station!”

* * *

There was a reason most of the station hated working this part of the town. After four hours, the most exciting thing he and Shane had gotten to do was issue a couple of speeding tickets to harrassed looking soccer moms.

The atmosphere in the car wasn’t much better. Shane was still pretty pissed that Rick had been late, and wasn’t shy about showing it. Normally there would be an almost non-stop stream of chatter flowing between the two of them, don’t ask Rick how, since they’d been friends nearly their whole lives, but somehow they still had shit to talk about. 

Now though, Shane was stubbornly keeping his mouth shut. Every question Rick asked, even the carefully crafted line about Rick thinking about getting out onto the dating scene again, was outright ignored. 

“Come on, man, quit acting like I took a piss in your cheerios,” Rick whined. The silence in the car was starting to get to him. It was eerily similar to the way he’d felt every time he and Lori sat down at the dinner table when Carl wasn’t around to act as a buffer.

Shane just folded his arms across his chest, and glowered at him.

Thinking quickly, Rick’s grin widened. Shane was absolutely crazy about this mediterranean restaurant on the other side of town, but since Rick had never been a huge fan of lamb--give him a greasy cheeseburger any day--they rarely went there. “How ‘bout we go to that gyro place you like for lunch. My treat.”

His glare softening just slightly, Shane looked over at Rick. “Fine. But you gotta give me your card, and  _ I _ get to order the food. You’ll just screw it up.”

Celebrating his victory inside his head, Rick nodded. “Done.” With no need for further prompting, Shane gave him a subdued grin and pulled off onto the road, heading straight for the restaurant.

The unfortunate thing about the other side of town was the fact that it was where most of the animal bodies had turned up. It was the rougher area of town, with crumbling houses and empty buildings and warehouses. The robbery that Shane was so upset about happened over there, and that was far from the only crime. It easily was the most severe, but not the only crime.

Gang activity was practically underground with how little they caught. They were smart enough to stay out of sight, and there had been the thought that they seemed to do  _ too  _ good of a job.

No matter how many times they swept through the area, the moment the shift changes happened, there would be a burglary. Or a beating. Or, lately, a dead animal. It was taking a toll on the squad. Some people down at the station were suggesting that there was a rat or a bug on the inside.

Rick was one of those people. It led to him being paranoid at times, while Shane just scoffed at him. All he cared about was that it was a more interesting side of town, and he was eager to crack into the gangs and weed them out.

Sitting in the car, hoping Shane would bring him back something that  _ wasn’t _ lamb, Rick tapped idly at the steering wheel. His posture might have looked relaxed, but his eyes were constantly scanning the surrounding area.

Feeling his own agitation start to rise, Rick stepped out of the car and looked over to where Shane was standing, just inside the door of the restaurant. The place looked crowded. It was going to take him a while to get out of there.

Deciding to get some use out of his unexpected downtime, Rick started walking down the sidewalk, looking at some of the businesses that had managed to stay open.

Palm readers. He rolled his eyes. The only fate he believed in was the one you made yourself. The proprietor of the psychic place gave him the stink eye as he walked past, and he just tipped his hat, continuing on his way.

A garage. The Modern Muffler. Rick held back a snort. If it wasn’t so far away from his house, he’d bring his car here to get worked on. The owner was an older guy named Dale, who tended to hire ex-cons, and people who were down on their luck. So far as Rick knew, not one of them had ever made the old man regret it. They were almost fanatic in their loyalty. Maybe he’d start bringing his car here anyway. It was worth it to go a little out of his way for good service, right?

He was almost past the garage when a loud voice called out to him.

“What’n the hell are you doin’ around here, piggly wiggly? The donut shop’s in the other direction.”

Rick closed his eyes and counted to ten before he turned around. “Merle. Finally got out of prison, huh? What’s it been? Ten years?”

Sucking on his teeth for a second, Merle grinned. He’d lost a tooth somewhere down the line, one of his canines, and Rick would put money down on Merle absolutely deserving it.

“Just about. They let me out for good behavior, what’d’ya think about that?” Merle laughed, and Rick was reminded of an old woman he’d used to know who’d smoked three packs of cigarettes a day. “Someone up there musta smiled on me, huh? Maybe it was my baby brother lookin’ out for me from the other side.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Shifting his feet, Merle kicked a small rock and it dinged loudly off the corrugated metal wall of the shop. “You wouldn’t, would ya. He died back in ninety-one, far as I could tell. You shitty-ass cops never did find hide nor hair of him.”

Strangely, that sent a pang of guilt through Rick’s heart, even when it really shouldn't have. Nearly twenty years ago, he’d still been in school. Just a kid. There was nothing Rick could have done. “I'm sorry to hear that,” Rick said softly, though his mind was already filling with questions.

Thankfully, Merle didn’t need much prompting whenever he had something to say.

“Fuck, I leave ta’ get my shit straight, go mess up some Iraqis, ‘n what's the thanks I get? My baby brother's blood on the floor, ‘n my Pa too drunk to ‘member me.” Merle’s laugh this time was dry and humorless. “Should’a known, kid wasn't a Dixon like me, that's for damn sure. Was tryin’ to go to school like the goody-two-shoes he was.”

Rick swallowed and lowered his head. He never liked to hear the backstories of criminals, hearing about their bleak lives, and the chances they never got. When he opened his mouth again, not even sure what he wanted to say, Merle cut him off.

“Save it, don't need your pity. Piece a’ shit’s dead, baby brother’s off in the big trailer park in the sky, an’ life ain't so shit now.”

Taking that as his cue to shut up about that subject, Rick nodded. “I'm glad to see you've turned your life around. Making your baby brother proud, I'm sure.”

Merle grinned, and turned back to the garage. “Don't get yer hopes up too high, Piglet!” 

Just as Merle was about to step inside the garage, a sudden loud flurry of barks came from Rick’s left. Merle turned towards the sound, his brow furrowed, and let out a low curse. Rick followed his line of sight, and his eyes widened. 

“Dammit, that damn mutt’s back,” Merle muttered, but Rick didn’t look back to him.

Just across the street, tucked in an alleyway, was a dog. It was massive in height, easily to his hip. Even from where he was standing, Rick could make out the sharp blue eyes, but his focus wasn't on that, it was on the wounds that were open and torn into the animal’s gray coat. Dried blood matted his fur, and fresh blood lingered on the edges of some of the gashes. Rick could see a semi-circle pattern of several bites on its throat and face, and there were some long gouges down by his belly, a rip on his shoulder, teeth marks on the legs-

“Get outta here, ya’ bitch!” Merle yelled, and Rick looked back just in time to see the redneck now holding a wrench, reeling his arm back.

Moving forward as quickly as he could, Rick grabbed hold of Merle’s arm, not that it mattered. As soon as Merle had raised a hand, the dog ghosted away. “It’s already hurt enough, back off!”

“Pussy,” Merle spat, yanking his arm out of Rick’s grasp. “That damn thing’s been skulkin’ around here for two or three days now. The cons that work here scare off enough damn business without that raggedy thing doin’ it, too.”

“Did you call Animal Control?”

Merle shook his head. “Dale’s a goddamn bleedin’ heart. Said if we called the city, he’d just get put down. By the looks of those wounds, it’d be a damn kindness, y’ask me.”

“Good thing no one’s asking you then,” Rick snapped, walking over to the alley where the dog had disappeared. Maybe he’d be able to find out where it was hiding. Get someone to come and catch it, maybe have it taken to a vet.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he quickly typed out a text for Shane.  _ ‘Noticed a wounded dog, following it to see if it can be helped.’ _

Not waiting for a response, Rick continued down the alley. There were small droplets of blood dotted onto the cement, leading further into the alley than Rick really wanted to go, but he was determined. He’d told Sophia and Carol that he’d do whatever he could to help Scrappy, and he was pretty positive this was the dog they were talking about.

Rounding another corner, Rick heard loud voices. Instinctively ducking down behind a stack of pallets, he listened.

“I don’t care what you have to do. Okay. No, we need at least five more. Tank is chewing through the competition too fast, man, just do your damn job, and fuckin’ get me more dogs.”

Leaning forward, and peering through the gaps in the pallets, Rick watched as a tall, well dressed man paced back and forth in front of what looked like one of those roll up warehouse doors. It was difficult to tell from the angle he was at, but he thought he noticed the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster underneath the man’s suit jacket.

“Where the hell did everybody go?” the man grumbled, shoving a cell phone into his pocket. “Nick, get the fuck over here!”

A shorter man, with light eyes, and a slightly paunchy stomach skittered over at the call. “Whatcha need, Mr. Monroe?”

The shorter man, Nick, landed on the cement a few seconds later, holding a hand to his now bleeding nose.

Kneeling down by his side Monroe pulled out a handkerchief, and began blotting the blood from his knuckles. “What I need,  _ Nick, _ is for you to stop dumping all the goddamn dogs in the same goddamn place. Gareth has informed me that the cops are getting more interested in our little operation here, so from now on, no more dumping in town. If you have to drive your ass all the way up to Atlanta with a trunk full of dead losers, then that’s what you’ll do. Are we clear?”

Nick nodded as best he could, his hand still pressed against his nose. Blood was dripping down his chin in a thin trail. “Yes sir, I gotcha. I’ll do it just like you say.”

“Good,” Monroe sneered, standing up and moving out of Rick’s line of sight. “Now get the fuck out of here. There’s another load in the van for you to deal with.”

Scrambling to his feet, Nick moved to a van that Rick could just barely see. There was a loud slam, likely a door into the warehouse, and then silence.

Sweeping his eyes over the area around him, trying to make sure there wasn’t anyone else around, Rick nearly had a heart attack when he saw the dog. He was only a few feet away, hiding inside the hollowed out shell of an old volkswagen, staring at Rick with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen on a dog. It was slightly unnerving, the way the animal held his stare.

Backing away slowly, his hand on his gun just in case, Rick made his way out of the alley. When he got back to the street, he started sprinting.

He’d just made it to the car, panting and sweating, when Shane waltzed out of the restaurant with a large bag in his hands.

“I got you spanakopita. I think you’ll like it.” Shane looked him up and down, his eyes narrowing. “What the fuck, man. You go for a fucking jog? I wasn’t in there that long.”

“Food’s gonna have to wait. I know where the dog fighting is happening. And I know who’s in charge.  _ And _ I know who the fucking rat in the station is! I swear to god when I get ahold of Gareth, I’m gonna wring his grimy little neck!”

“Whoa, dude, take a step back for a second!” Shane said, setting the bag down and holding his hands out. “How the fuck do you know all this shit? I was only in the restaurant for like thirty minutes.”

“Shane, just get in the fucking car, okay? I’ll tell you on the way to the station.”

* * *

“10-23 to Dispatch, stand by.”

_ “10-4, standing by.” _

“Shit, when's the last time we had to use these codes?” Shane muttered under his breath from where he stood beside Rick. He had his shoulders to the wall, taking quick inventory over himself.

For the first time in weeks, Shane was quiet. Serious. His hands were trembled minutely as he checked his bullet proof vest, and made sure his gun was loaded and ready. Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out with a woosh before looking over at Rick.

“Hey, we got this. The place is on lockdown. No one goes in, or out,” Rick murmured, motioning towards the warehouse. “Just go with the plan.”

“Yeah, right,” Shane muttered, checking his glock again.

Trying his best to not roll his eyes, Rick looked back to Michonne, who was on the opposite side of the alley. She had her head down, speaking into her transmitter. They would follow her signals. She’d already asked for assistance from the Atlanta force, and they were moving in right now.

Michonne lifted her head to look back at Rick, then nodded. They were in position. Time to start closing in.

Pressing his shoulders back against the wall, Rick took in a deep breath. They had planned this out as best they could under the rushed conditions.

Every side of the warehouse was locked down. They had been watching people filing in from afar for a couple of hours, and there was a fight happening now. Even though it was few hundred yards away, there was an audible buzz of shouts and yelling. Every fifteen minutes, there was a gunshot. After some mild panic, they realized that it was some sort of round break. Then there were the times with no shots, but the cheering would get louder. A victor.

It made Rick’s stomach turn inside out, but it told them something. At least one person had a gun. The fights were still going. Animal control was waiting farther down the alley with catch poles and crates, and veterinarians were standing by. Everyone already knew that with every minute that passed, the risk of the fights ending, of being caught, of more dogs dying, and of this entire operation going wrong, increased.

Rick wished he’d had a moment to talk to Carl, tell him that he loved him, but things had moved so quickly there hadn’t been time. Hell, he’d even thought about calling Lori to just tell her that she was still in his will, and that his house would be hers. That the money he’d put away was for Carl’s college education. Let her know that everything he did was for Carl’s future.

“Eyes up,” Michonne grunted, catching Rick’s attention. She looked back at him, eyes narrowed and sharp. “We're moving in.”

“Pfft, Michonne doesn't need codes,” Shane said under his breath, still staring down at his glock.

“Shut up, Shane, “ Rick snapped, but a small smile touched the corners of his lips. Glancing back to his partner, he reached out and gave him a thump on the shoulder. It was something he always did before they went into a dangerous situation. A silent  _ “I got you.” _

Locking his dark brown eyes with Rick’s blue, Shane nodded, and flicked off the safety of his glock. “Let's lock and load, brother,” he grunted, raising his gun and glancing to Michonne.

_ “Move in,”  _ Michonne’s voice crackled through the transmitter.  _ “Now.” _

In one swift motion, the squad moved off the walls, and closed in on the warehouse. They moved in sync, like they’d done this a million times. Rick could hear the Atlanta back-up behind them, their own codes like nails in his head. They were circling to the back, but all Rick could think about was the noise. Be quiet. Be  _ quiet. _

As they closed the distance, more sound leaked out of the broken and splintered walls of the warehouse. The cheering, the swears, and the  _ fighting _ . The snarling and snapping of jaws mixed with yelps of pain, and as Rick ducked down behind a crate right beside the entrance, the voices got louder.

Then came the gunshot signaling the end of a round. This was the moment they’d been waiting for. Sucking up his courage, Rick stepped up and slammed his fist into the door. “This is the police! Come out with your hands up! We have the building surrounded!”

Next thing he knew, a bullet pierced through the wood inches from his head, sending splinters out as it passed through. Rick jumped back, nearly stumbling over some trash, and ducked behind a crate. Yeah, these guys weren't going to go down easy, but that was also part of their plan. The rest of the squads were working their way to the back of the warehouse. Rick was meant to grab their attention.

“Last chance! Come out peacefully or in a body bag!”

Rick probably shouldn't have said that, but his adrenaline was pumping steadily. It was like an action movie, but without the explosions.

“Fuck you!” someone from the inside yelled, other voices starting to yell out, too, adding to the confusion that hung over the warehouse like storm clouds. He could hear who knows how many dogs starting to bark, growling and snapping. Great. Now they would have to get through an army of pit bulls.

Just as Rick was preparing to burst through the door, a clear voice sounded from the other side. “Hands in the air, now!” The Atlanta squad had made their way inside, and were starting to force their way into the fight.

In seconds, the doors slammed open, and the gang members came pouring out. Thankfully, there were only a few with weapons, and Rick quickly swung out from behind the crate, leveling his Colt Python at them. “Hands behind your head! Down on the ground, now!”

It was slightly chaotic after that. A flurry of noise, people, and dogs, and a wave of the animals ran out, snapping and growling. Rick had to force himself to level his gun at dogs still dragging chain leashes behind them, sickness surging up from his stomach, burning in the back of his throat. They were still fighting. Fighting each other. Attacking the gang. Attacking anything that  _ moved. _

Before Rick could calm his own frantic thoughts, he heard the guns start going off. His hands throbbing and tingling from the recoil of his Colt, he watched as blood spilled onto the dirty cement. 

Somehow, animal control managed to wade into the chaos around the warehouse, plucking out the  _ still fighting _ animals one by one. While the dogs that had escaped the building were subdued, the cops started slapping handcuffs on the gang members cowering on the ground. There were still members inside, but the Atlanta police force were taking control of the situation.

By the time it was all over, there was close to twenty people lined up against the wall of the warehouse, and animal control had worked their way inside. They dragged out cage after cage of random dogs and cats. Some were obvious fighters, complete with poorly stapled wounds, and some Rick could clearly see were meant to be bait.

The sight left Rick’s knees weak, his breaths rushed and ragged from working so quickly. At last count, eleven criminals had to be taken to the hospital. Two cops had gotten shot, but neither of them were serious wounds. Rick wasn't sure how many people were hurt by the dogs. 

Leaning against an empty cage, Rick watched animals being hauled out of the warehouse. “They don't have a fucking chance,” he breathed, as the fighting animals tried to snap at each other through the bars of their cages. Scattered across the dusty ground were tarps laying across dead dogs, more than Rick cared to count. A different vehicle would come to pick up the fighting dogs still alive, and would take them straight to a vet. Some still had open, bleeding wounds, and others had old wounds that were stapled shut. They all bore scars from countless fights, and it made his stomach churn.

Some of the officers that had been inside the warehouse became physically ill at seeing what was inside. Rick hadn't attempted to go further in, and he really didn't want to. He was an animal lover, and seeing them reduced to nothing but teeth and claws, entertainment for these sadistic assholes...

Swallowing thickly, Rick made his way out of the warehouse, suddenly desperate for air that wasn’t loaded with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Leaning heavily against one of the patrol cars parked outside, he took several deep breaths. “Jesus, that was fucking rough,” he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes so hard he started seeing flashes of color.

“You alright, man?”

Looking up, his eyes still slightly unfocused, Rick saw Shane standing off to the side. There was a spattering of blood on his uniform, and Rick grimaced. “Looks like I should be asking you that,” he said, pointing to the blood.

Shane frowned, and wiped his hand over the stain, not succeeding in anything but spreading it farther. “There was a dog in the back office. We knocked on the door, but it didn’t make any noise, so we went in. One of the Atlanta cops got bit, but he’s okay. I uh… I got there in time.”

Shane didn’t have to say any more. Rick could picture the scene perfectly in his head. All these dogs… If things had gone differently, maybe they’d all be in loving homes right now, instead of dead or on the way there. Rick was pragmatic enough to know that the majority of the fighting dogs they rescued from this place weren’t going to have a happily ever after.

“We all did what we had to do in there,” Rick said, grabbing Shane and giving him an impromptu hug. When he pulled back, he forced out a little laugh. “Is it fucked up that it was harder shooting at the dogs than it was at the people?”

“Nah, man, all the people in that building were assholes. The dogs didn’t have any choice.”

Rick nodded before glancing around them. There was still a lot of activity, and probably fifty other things he should be doing that didn’t involve leaning against a car, and dwelling on the shit he’d just seen.

“I just talked to Glenn. He arrested Gareth at his house. The little shit was trying to pack his bags, and get the fuck out of town.”

“Good. Maybe now the hole in the department is plugged up,” Rick scowled. “I never did like him. Gave me the creeps. Like he was trying to decide if I’d taste good barbecued, or something. Always looking at me and licking his lips.”

Shane barked out a laugh, and slung his arm around Rick’s shoulders, leading him through the maze of cars and pallets until they reached their patrol car. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, man. Between the Atlanta PD, Abe and Michonne, this shit is under control.”

“I think I might look around for that other dog. The one I saw earlier?”

“The one with the creepy stare?”

Rick huffed, and shook his head. “I didn’t say it was creepy, I said it was intense. But, yes, that one.”

“Whatever. I’ll catch a ride with Martinez.” Shane looked around for a moment before yelling out, “Yo! Martinez! Hold up a minute!”

After watching Shane jog away, Rick moved back to the spot he’d occupied earlier. Shit. He looked at his watch. Was it really only eight hours ago that he’d crouched down behind those pallets?

Shaking off his exhaustion, Rick started methodically checking any and all hiding spots he could find near the spot he’d seen the dog. He was just about to give up, when he decided to look underneath an overflowing dumpster. He’d nearly bypassed it, since there were garbage bags, and all kinds of miscellaneous crap surrounding the rusted thing.

Crouching down after clearing away a few bags, Rick looked under the dumpster. The dog was there. Curled up in a ball, completely motionless. Tapping on the metal of the dumpster to get it’s attention did nothing, and Rick could only assume it was either dead, or nearly there.

Rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead, Rick sighed. He couldn’t just leave it here. If it was dead, it needed to be disposed of, and if it wasn’t, he was sure it needed care desperately.

Looking under the dumpster again, Rick pressed himself low to the ground, and reached under as far as he could. He just barely managed to hook his finger over the dog’s hind leg. There was no resistance as he firmed up his grip and began pulling. Seconds later, the dog was out. Rick cursed under his breath. It was alive, but if something wasn’t done, and soon, this animal was a goner.

Quickly jogging back to his car, he opened the trunk, and pulled out the blanket he kept there. Returning to the still almost motionless animal, he covered it with the blanket, and mindful of the wounds he’d seen, bundled it up. He let out a grunt of effort when he lifted it. Despite looking half starved, it was surprisingly heavy.

Ignoring the looks from his coworkers, he loaded the dog into his car, and got into the driver’s seat. One of the Animal Control workers was running towards him, waving and pointing to the backseat, saying something about him being an idiot.

Slamming the car door, Rick ignored him, too. There was a vet’s office not too far away. He passed it nearly every day on his way to work. He just hoped that Greene Pastures Veterinary Clinic was up to the challenge.


	4. Give Him a Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick races against the clock to rescue a single dog, hoping that Hershel Greene can save it. Because it wasn't a bad dog. It wasn't like the fighters. This dog is special.

Rick shouldn't have turned on his siren and lights, he really shouldn't have. Chances were high that if  _ anyone  _ saw him using them for a dog, he’d be written up, but screw the consequences. If it weren't for this dog, they wouldn't have found the fighting ring in the first place.

Rick kept glancing at the dog the entire time he sped towards the clinic. It was still bleeding, dampening the blanket. How it even still alive, Rick didn’t know, as he was almost completely sure that this was the same dog from Carol’s bakery. Scrappy. It had been injured for several days, from what Merle said.

Even in his small glances, Rick could see dirt caked onto the wounds and the infection that discolored the wounds on the dog’s neck and face. Wounds Rick were now positive were bites.

When he finally saw the clinic, he let out a relieved breath. The parking lot was nearly empty. The animal control team must not be bringing the dogs and cats here, at least not yet. It was possible they weren't even  _ done  _ wrangling them up.

Pulling into the parking lot, Rick flicked off the siren and lights and jumped out of the car. As he went to grab the dog, he caught himself staring for a moment, trying to see if his chest was still moving. The dog was still alive. Couldn’t waste time.

Hauling the bundle into his arms, Rick forced the car door closed with his foot. Adjusting his grasp, he rushed to the front door of the clinic. He nearly ran straight into Beth, the receptionist and daughter of the vet, who had been investigating the sirens. “Where's Hershel?” Rick grunted, pushing his way past the young woman. “It's an emergency!”

Beth looked like she was about to protest, but then she focused on the blanket wrapped animal in his arms. The dog’s head was hanging limply over his arm. She firmed her jaw, and pointed at an open door down the hallway. “Put him in there. I’ll go get Daddy.”

Rick moved toward the open door, and lay the dog down on the long metal table. He unwrapped the blanket and winced. Under the harsh fluorescent light of the vet’s office, the wounds looked even worse. The most serious one, to Rick’s untrained eye, looked to be on his his shoulder; A massive gash that had to be at least six inches long. There were injuries scattered all over the dog’s body. From a ring of puncture marks on his throat, and face, to what looked like claw marks on his belly.

An older man came in a minute or so later, snapping gloves onto his hands. “What’s happened here?” he said, all business, and immediately starting to examine the dog.

“Hershel,” Rick breathed out, relieved to see the old vet. “Dog fighting ring. We finally busted it up. I think this one escaped somehow, or was let loose once he couldn’t fight anymore.”

Hershel’s brow furrowed as he reached for the dog. He started loosening up its limbs and stretching them out. “Son, they don't just let go of dogs,” Hershel said, running gloved hands up the dog’s throat. He paused, obviously trying to feel for breath, and frowned even more.

“He's thready,” Hershel murmured, letting go of the dog and stepping off to a closet. “I'm going to get him on some fluids to start off. He's underweight, and his wounds are infected. Definitely been in some fights, and I'm surprised he's still alive.”

Rick swallowed, looking back down at the dog. It still lay motionless on the cold examination table. “What are his odds?” Rick asked.

“I'm going to need a lot more than a quick glance to tell you that,” Hershel said, finally emerging from the back room with an IV bag. Grabbing a rack from the corner, he rolled it to the table and hooked up the bag. “My Maggie is still down there with your officers. She must have her hands full."

“Unfortunately,” Rick agreed, his face solemn. “A lot of fighting dogs, lot of bait animals, a lot of them wounded.”

Rick watched closely as Hershel inserted the needle into the dog’s front leg, unclasping the valve to let fluid run down the tube. “I doubt many will reach this room. She got the orders to bring enough vials of pentobarbital to put three horses down.”

Rick winced. His thoughts went back to Shane, and what he’d done to the dog that had bitten the Atlanta officer, and all the lumpy tarps that had littered the ground. How many bodies were they going to be disposing of after all this was over? 

Hershel had already turned his attention back to the dog, grabbing a wet rag and starting to clean around the wounds to get a better look. Rick could see the infection oozing out of the bites. “A few of these are just about a week or two old,” Hershel said, pointing towards the bites on the dogs stomach. “Definitely fighting. A dog pinned him on his back and went for the belly.”

Moving his hands up, Hershel began wiping away at the blood on the dogs neck and head. “These are newer. A few days at most. Judging by the bruising under the fur on his ankles, he was tied up. Probably used as bait before a fight.”

The visual that went through Rick’s head at Hershel’s words had Rick vibrating with anger. He felt like heading back down to the station, and beating the holy hell out of all the pieces of shit that could be a part of something like that.

Grabbing handfuls of his hair, Rick let out a snarl. “I need some air. Do everything you can for him. Don’t worry about the cost, just… I’ll take care of it.”

Hershel barely looked up from his work, simply nodded, and continued on. 

Rick backed out of the room, and walked outside. Pacing in circles, he cursed under his breath. After a few minutes of pacing, his eyes landed on a large beech tree, sitting off on the left side of the property. Stalking over to it, he threw several punches, not even feeling the pain until he was finished.

Standing back, his chin touching his chest, he panted heavily. Rick raised his fists to his face, and flexed his fingers, breathing a sigh of relief. Nothing broken except for some skin. He’d be sore for a few days, but hitting the tree was better than taking out his anger on the drywall in Hershel’s office, or on the assholes down at the station. As much as they deserved a good ass whooping, it would only result in Rick getting hit with charges of police misconduct, and the suspects going free.

He was still pacing outside an hour later, watching various police vehicles and animal control trucks pull into the parking lot, when Beth came running out. “Rick! Daddy needs you!”

Jerking his head up, Rick’s eyes widened. He ran to Beth’s side quickly, making his way inside. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“The dog woke up.”

The news should have been a relief, but the look on Beth’s face was anything but calming. It only took seconds for Rick to realize that something was wrong. He had just abandoned a wounded, probably terrified dog in a cold, sterile room with a stranger that was pushing needles into him. Not that the dog knew him any better, but at least Rick wasn’t a  _ complete _ stranger.

Moving past Beth, who was more prepared for it this time, Rick rushed inside. The small clinic was filled almost to bursting. Cages filled with cowering animals lined the walls in the waiting room, and people were rushing in and out of rooms, some carrying equipment like bandages or IVs. The noise echoed off the tile floor, battering at his senses until Rick managed to tune it out.

Even before he reached the examination room, he could hear the growls coming from inside. Rick could also hear Hershel doing his best to try to soothe the angry animal.

Coming to the door, Rick called out to him. “Hershel! What can I do to help?”

“I need my catch pole,” Hershel replied, his voice still low and calm. “He hasn't bit me yet, but he's lookin’ like he wants to try.”

Rick winced. Images of the pit bulls back at the warehouse biting and struggling against catch poles filled his head, and before he could stop to reason with himself, he grabbed the handle and opened the door. 

Poking his head inside and blocking the gap with his body, he caught sight of the dog. He was hiding underneath a chair, shaking like a leaf and growling, yet his body language was anything but vicious. He was cowering; his thin tail tucked between his legs, and his ears pinned down close to his skull.

There were trails of blood on the floor of the room, and blood was oozing slowly from the gash on the dog’s shoulder. Forcing himself into the room and closing the door behind him, blocking out some of the noise from the waiting room, Rick said, “He's just scared. What happened?”

Still on the opposite side of the dog, Hershel moved slowly to the door. “He has glass in his shoulder. The fluids must have worked better than I expected because he jumped right up after I pulled out a few shards.”

Swallowing, Rick looked at the dog, who had backed himself into the corner of the room underneath a chair. “Here, you go get the pole. I'm going to try to calm him down,”  Rick said, dropping his voice to a whisper. Hershel immediately started to refuse his request, but Rick ignored him, and took a step closer.

“Just trust me. He's not a bad dog,” Rick said, looking down at the dog. In painfully slow motions, Rick sank down to his knees a few feet away from the dog, still far enough away that he was not within striking distance.

“If you say so, son, but don’t come cryin’ to me when you get a nasty bite.”

The door closed softly behind Hershel, and Rick turned his attention back to the shivering dog.

“Hey, buddy,” Rick whispered, his voice as soothing as he could make it. “Everything is alright, we just need to get you cleaned up. It looks like some of the dogs in that place did a number on you.”

Running his eyes over the parts of the dog’s coat that weren’t coated with blood, Rick settled himself more comfortably on the floor.

“You know, you remind me of a dog I saw once back when I was a kid. I was about sixteen maybe, and I was walking home from baseball practice, and I saw some kids clustered around a puppy.”   
  
Rick frowned, but continued anyway, his eyes never leaving the still cowering dog. “I thought they were playing with it at first, but I heard a little yelp. When I got closer, I saw that they were tying it to a tree.

“Luckily, I managed to distract them, and the puppy ran off.” Rick hung his head, and sighed. “It was such a pretty dog. Big bright blue eyes, and fur pretty much the same color as yours. I’d think you were the same dog if that hadn’t happened twenty years ago.”

Slowly, as Rick spoke, the dog’s trembling eased, though his growl still rumbled through the room. He placed his head on his paws, staring out at Rick with that same intense gaze from earlier.

“I went back to that park every day for months, looking for that dog. Hoping I could find it, and somehow convince my father to let me keep it. Never found it though.” Rick said. “I guess it was probably someone’s pet that had wandered off, and it’s owner came and scooped it up.”

Rick continued to talk, for a long time. So long, that the dog’s eyes started to droop, and his growl tapered off into nothing. Taking a huge leap of faith, Rick started scooting himself closer.

At his first movement, the dog’s head popped up, and those blue eyes locked onto his frame. “It’s alright,” Rick soothed, scooting a bit closer. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

The dog let out a short huff of air, and lowered his head to his paws again. He didn’t take his eyes off Rick, but there was no growling either. Rick took that as a positive sign.

“Hey, Hershel, can you hear me?” Rick said, keeping his voice smooth and calm.

“I can hear you, Rick. What do you need?”

“Feel like talking me through giving an injection of something that’ll make him sleep?”

Hershel chuckled. “I’ve got a better idea. Give me a minute.”

A minute or so later, the door to the exam room cracked open, and Hershel slid a small metal bowl full of wet dog food in through the gap, then shut it again. “I put something in that. See if you can get him to eat it. Don’t get too close, now. A starving dog can be an unpredictable thing.”

Good advice. Murmuring his thanks, Rick reached over, hooked his fingers around the edge of the bowl, and dragged it to his side. 

“I bet you're hungry,” he said softly, looking down at the food and trying not to wrinkle his nose. It smelled disgusting. How could animals eat stuff like this? Holding back his thoughts, Rick reached down into his belt for his taser. He wouldn't actually be using it. Instead, he pushed the bowl closer to the dog with the blocky end of the taser, using it as a sort of buffer. And while the dog did not outright attack him, Rick was still extremely glad for that small safety measure.

The dog almost dove forward, his jaws parting and ravenously consuming what was in the bowl with no hesitation. There was the smallest growl of warning, and Rick took that as his signal to move back.

“There we go,” Rick praised, the smile growing on his face. “That has to feel good, doesn't it? I'm sure it's got good stuff in it.” Rick was rambling now, like he was talking to a child. Like he was talking to Carl.

The dog’s piercing blue eyes continued to stare deep into Rick’s, but he resumed his consumption. In less than a minute, thirty seconds tops, the dog was running his tongue along the steel walls of the bowl for any scrap that might have been left behind.

Knowing better than to take the bowl away, instead letting the dog realize on his own that the food was gone, Rick carefully moved the tiniest bit closer when the dog’s gaze finally shifted off of him.

“Hershel, he's eaten it all,” he called over his shoulder and watched as the door slowly opened again. The older man had the catch pole in his hand. Barks and growls leaked through the crack in the doorway, making Rick shudder, and dart his eyes to the still hiding dog in front of him. The dog must have heard the noise, too, judging by him backing up into the corner again, and resuming his growling.

“Give him a few minutes. I need to give Maggie a hand.” The other man’s shoulders drooped slightly, and he shook his head. His eyes were tired, beyond his years. “We’ve still got some fighters, and she needs help holding them down.”

A rock dropped into the pit of his stomach, but Rick nodded. “If you need any help,” he offered, “I'll be here. Just…” He swallowed and lowered his eyes back to the dog, who was still backed up to the wall, now whimpering. “Let me give this one a chance.”

Hershel sighed, and Rick was sure that he thought this dog was a lost cause and a waste of time, but he nodded all the same. “You got a good heart, son. Don't let it bite you in the rear.” The older man opened the door and stepped back outside, and the room was mostly silent again.

Rick sat there for probably ten minutes before the dog showed any sort of sign that the sedative he’d eaten was taking effect. Then the dog sort of tipped over, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His eyes were focused on Rick, and if Rick wasn’t mistaken, there was an accusation lurking in them. Like the dog was disappointed in him. But that just wasn’t possible...

Cautiously creeping closer, Rick finally lay his hand on the dog’s soft fur. Stroking gently, he continued to murmur soothing words. The dog might be stoned as hell, but he was still  _ sort of _ awake. Probably felt something like Rick had, when he’d had to have surgery for a severed tendon on his finger. As they were wheeling him down the hallway, they’d injected him with something that made the whole world better. He’d even said the cliched line that every anesthetist had probably heard a million variations of: Give me some of that shit to go, please.

Whatever it was, it was working it’s magic on Scrappy. Rick frowned. Scrappy didn’t really seem to fit. He was positive that when in good health, this would probably be one of the most stunning animals he’d ever seen. He ran through a list of other names in his head. King. Rex. Max. Bandit. Buddy. Mentally listing probably thirty names, he discarded every one. None of them fit.

Rick had just vetoed his thirty-first name when he realized what he was doing. He was invested. There was no chance he was going to let this dog go, so... It looked like he had a dog now. Sure, he’s a pretty messed up dog, at least at the moment, but with Hershel’s help, he’d get better.

But that came with a whole new set of problems. Taking a wounded dog home was one thing. Taking a potentially ex-fighting dog was something else entirely. Sure, it hadn't snapped at him yet, but what about when Carl came?

Shit, Carl. And  _ Lori. _

Lori never wanted another pet after what had happened before... She made the excuse that they were too much to take care of, even when Carl begged for one every birthday. How would she react to this? But then Rick realized something. 

It didn't matter. The dog was his. Lori would just have to deal with it.

Chuckling under his breath, he watched the vivid blue eyes close, the dog finally lapsing into unconsciousness. Rick continued slowly stroking through his fur, careful to avoid touching any of the wounds that Hershel had cleaned. They were still open, but chances were that Hershel had already washed out most of the infection that he could. Had it not been for the dog waking, he’d probably already be stitched up.

Not more than thirty seconds after the dog fell asleep, the door opened behind Rick. He glanced up, meeting Hershel’s eyes. “How did it go?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Hershel just shook his head and sighed. “I will never understand those kinds of people,” he said, and walked over to Rick. “I see our patient finally took a nap,” he commented, leaning over to get a better look at the dog.

Hershel dug into his white lab coat pocket and pulled out a small flashlight. With careful movements, he opened one of the dog’s eyes, and flashed the light in, then repeated with the other. “Good,” Hershel hummed under his breath and pocketed the flashlight.

“Would you mind getting him up onto the table?” the older man asked as he was turning away. “I should be able to simply stitch the wounds closed and apply some antibiotics. Then I'll have him stay overnight, watch his vitals, start calling around shelters-"

“You won't need to do that,” Rick said, his voice clear and strong. Hershel turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised. Then the vet motioned to the dog.

“Son, I hope you're not saying what I think you're saying.”

“I am. I’ll be taking him home with me. I don’t want him staying here with all the other dogs we had to round up. I may not have been able to save as many dogs as I wanted to tonight, but I’ll be damned if I don’t save this one. I’ll monitor him twenty four seven if I have to,” Rick insisted, his hands curling into fists.

Hershel just stared at Rick for a moment, before letting out a little harrumph. “I hope you know what,  _ exactly, _ you’re getting yourself into, Rick, I really do. You’ve got a little boy, don’t you? Be a shame if he got bit.”

“He's not like those other dogs,” Rick protested, carefully pulling the dog out from beneath the chair he’d had been hiding under. “He's not too far gone. He's a good boy.”

His knew his words sounded naive, but Rick refused to think otherwise. The dog had  _ led  _ him to the fighting ring. The dog  _ knew  _ that he was there to help. Not once had he snapped, unlike the dogs that couldn't be within feet of a human without lunging. Scrappy, or whatever he decided his name should be, was a  _ good dog. _

Hershel muttered under his breath but Rick chose to ignore it for now, and concentrated on getting the dog onto the table. As soon as Hershel laid out the dog properly, he grabbed a fresh pair of gloves and retrieved his suture kit.

It was agonizing how long it took to sew the dog back together again, and watching Hershel remove countless pieces of glass from his shoulder. Hershel had even found a tooth lodged in a wound right by his jaw, something that had to be  _ excruciatingly  _ painful. But the dog remained asleep, and Hershel finally finished after more than a hundred and fifty stitches.

After cleaning the wounds one more time, Hershel began to wrap them in gauze as best as he could, even the sensitive areas around the face and throat. “The bandages need to be changed once a day. Every other day at the most. Antibiotic salve should be applied with the fresh bandages. After two weeks, if he’s recovering properly, I can begin removing the stitches,” Hershel said as he pulled off his stained gloves and tossed them into the trash.

“You're sure you want to do this? If you're as sure as you say about this dog being rehabilitatable, he could find a home after some time healing up,” Hershel said, narrowing his gaze at Rick.

Rick folded his arms across his chest, and narrowed his eyes at Hershel. “He doesn’t need to find a home, because he’s already got one.”

“Whatever you say, Rick. I’ll have Beth set out some special food for you to feed him, some antibiotics to put in his food, and a mild painkiller. Now, this is important,” Hershel stated, leveling a finger at Rick. “Your instinct is going to be to feed him as much food as he’ll eat.  _ Don’t. _ He could get sick, and even die. Feed him on a regular schedule, the amounts I write down for you, and that’s it. I’ve got a supplement you can use, too, if he’s having trouble keeping things down. If you feel like you have to give him a snack, or a treat, buy some fresh green beans, and freeze them. Three or four of those a couple times a day should be just fine.”

Rick nodded. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Keep an eye on his water intake. His bowl should be full at all times. And you need to watch him. Make sure he’s not eating and then throwing up afterwards. Watch for loose stools, and if they last for more than a couple of days, bring him back here immediately. Got it?”

“I got it. Thanks, Hershel,” Rick said, holding out his hand.

Hershel grabbed hold of Rick’s hand firmly, and shook it up and down. “You’re a good man, Rick. I hope this works out for you.”

Rick nodded and turned back to the sedated dog, starting the mathematical equation in his head on how to pick him up without tugging at the wounds.

“Oh, one more thing,” Hershel said, as Rick was getting ready to pick the dog up. He turned around and let out a laugh.

“Really?”

“Really,” Hershel grinned, holding out an E-collar. “If you don’t put it on him, he’ll be worrying at those wounds until he licks the stitches out.”

Rick laughed lowly, running his fingers through his hair, then grudgingly took the collar from Hershel's hands. “Isn't this gonna make it hard for him to eat?” He wondered aloud, looking back to the dog.

“Believe me. They always find a way.”

Scoffing to himself, Rick shrugged before gathering up the blanket and began tucking it around the dog, almost like an infant. “You got any of those sedatives for when I gotta clean his wounds?

“Beth will give you some, and the instructions, and she will give you the salve.” Hershel turned away and washed his hands thoroughly, then grabbed a towel. “You're free to go once you're done with her.”

“Thanks, Hershel,” Rick couldn't help but repeat again, letting out a grunt as he finally lifted the dog up into his arms. After some awkward situating of the dog's dead weight, he finally made his way out of the door and to the front desk. 

One rather large bill later, and Rick was carefully resting the dog into the passenger seat of the cruiser. This was going to be tough to explain to Shane, but perhaps it could wait. It would be his little secret until he could prove that the dog was nothing like those fighters.

“You're a good boy,” he murmured, running his hand over the dog's head. “I just need to show them, first.”


	5. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick has a dog now. He's a good boy.

Now  _ this _ was how Rick liked to wake up. No alarm, no blaring cell phone, just a slow transition from asleep to awake. Taking several moments to stretch out his limbs, Rick raised his arms over his head, and arched his back, letting out a huge yawn. He smacked his lips, and scratched at the thin trail of hair on his abdomen, contemplating whether he wanted to get up and try to make himself some food, or go out and get some.

Remembering the sad state of his refrigerator, Rick quickly realized that going out was the only option. He was walking out of the bathroom a few minutes later, still slightly groggy, when he stepped into something wet.

“What the fuck?”

Looking down at the hardwood floor, he saw a large puddle right in the middle of the hallway. All at once, the events of the previous day flooded his mind. 

Shit! The dog!

Rick hopped on one foot back into his bedroom, and peeled off his soaking wet sock. He didn’t even bother throwing it in the hamper, instead, just chucking it directly into the trash can. He should really go take a shower, but checking on his new housemate took priority.

Avoiding the puddle--the dog sure wasn’t dehydrated if it was peeing like that--he went into the living room, and looked over at the bed he barely remembered making before going straight to bed himself. A cushion from an outdoor lounge chair he never used, plus a couple of blankets from the closet, and bam! Dog bed.

Freezing a few steps into the room, Rick cursed under his breath. The dog was gone.

Swallowing down his anxiety, as there weren't many places that a dog  _ that  _ size could possibly hide, especially with the added bulk of the E-collar, Rick started picking his way through the living room. From what little he saw, the dog hadn't been on the couch, and the makeshift dog bed was cold to the touch. He’d slept somewhere else for the night.

Rick checked Carl’s room, thinking the dog may have preferred a proper bed, but the door was still closed. He checked the main floor bathroom. Nothing there, either. Even the kitchen, where he’d thought the dog might have tried investigating for food, was empty. There were only so many rooms in this damn house, and he was running out.

Starting to think that yesterday had been a vivid dream or hallucination, Rick began opening closets and poking in random nooks and crannies. Finding no sign of the dog, he finally sighed and went to get a mop to sop up the puddle on his floor.

And, of course, it was in the laundry room that Rick found him.

The dog had managed to squeeze his way in beside the dryer, hiding under the table Rick used to fold clothes after they had been washed and dried. With the drugs Hershel had given him the night before, Rick figured the dog would be asleep--he’d had an even rougher day than Rick had--but his eerie blue eyes were open and staring up at Rick where he stood in the doorway.

Letting out a sigh of relief, happy to know that he wasn’t going insane, Rick carefully took a step closer. The dog didn't move. Didn't even growl. Just held his gaze, and it was as unnerving as it had been yesterday.

“Hey, Rocko.” Rick cringed. No, that name was shit, too.  “Uh, did you have an adventure, sniffing out the place?”

The dog didn't even blink, but Rick imagined he could feel the unamused reaction. Wanting to help him feel more at ease, Rick squatted down, bringing himself closer to eye level.

“I'm sorry I didn't let you out. Thought you would make it til morning. Uh…” Rick chuckled awkwardly, and scratched at his scruff of a beard. “Technically, I haven't had a dog before. Or, really anything other than a goldfish I won at a fair when I was a kid. And you don't need to walk a goldfish.”

The dog blinked, continuing to stare at Rick blankly.

Feeling more and more like an idiot, Rick sat down with a long sigh. “I'm sorry, I'm new to all of this. And I'm sorry about the, uh…” Rick pointed at his own neck, making weird circular motions with his hand. “The, uh, cone. Thing. Doctor's orders.”

The dog either snorted or sneezed. Judging by how dusty it was back by the drier, Rick decided to go with sneeze. 

A thought suddenly occurred to Rick, and he jumped up with a curse. “You probably needed to go outside pretty bad, huh?” he said, thinking of the puddle he had yet to mop up. Slowly walking past the table the dog was hiding under, he opened up the door that led into the back yard. “There aren’t any trees or anything, but I guess you can make due without them.”

Rick nodded to himself, and grabbed the mop. “I’ll just go clean that little mess up, and then get you some breakfast.” Wincing, Rick pinched at the bridge of his nose. “And some water. That I also completely forgot about last night. I’m pretty shit at taking care of you so far, but I’ll get better, I promise.”

Still staring blankly at him, the dog lowered his head, and rested it on his paws.

“I need to think of a name for you, too. Maybe something will come to me while I’m mopping.”

Backing out of the room, Rick ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. What was he doing? Taking in a dog and not even knowing how to feed him… But it wouldn’t help to berate himself, and there were other things he needed to do. People he needed to call.

First, he needed to let Hershel know that the dog had made it through the night just fine. That call was simple and Rick mopped up the dog’s puddle as he talked. Setting the mop to the side once he hung up with Hershel, he realized that there was someone else he needed to call. Carol.

She picked up immediately, expecting an order. Instead, Rick gave her the news; he’d found ‘Scrappy’. But he also told her that, due to the dog’s injuries, he didn't think it was safe for Sophia to be around him.

After a few moments of silence, Carol agreed. All she asked was that when Scrappy got better, Rick bring him over so Sophia could see him. Eventually, Rick agreed.

Fifteen minutes after that call, Rick walked into the laundry room with two large plastic tupperware bowls. One full of the food Hershel had given him last night, with a squirt of some nutritional supplement mixed in, and one full of fresh water.

Setting them down carefully before backing away, he looked down at the dog. He was in the same position he’d been in when Rick left, staring at him with those vivid blue eyes. 

Cocking his head to the side, Rick said, “How about I call you Blue? Seems appropriate with those eyes of yours. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog with eyes that color.”

The dog licked his lips, and looked away from Rick, focusing on the bowl of food instead.

“Go ahead, Blue,” Rick said, trying out the new name, and deciding it fit perfectly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

His eyes darting between Rick’s face, and the bowl, the newly christened Blue whined, and settled his head onto his paws again.

“Not feeling up to it quite yet? Don’t worry. I’ll just head out and get some things done. I think, unless you want to eat out of those tupperware bowls forever, I need to head down to the pet store. Get you all the supplies you’re going to need. And all the supplies I’ll need.” Rick waved a hand through the air. “You know what I mean.”

Blue’s eyes rotated to look back at Rick for a moment, then he huffed. He crossed his large paws, resting his head on them before turning partially away. Effectively dismissed, Rick nearly reached out to give Blue a quick pat on the head, but thought better of it.

“I'll be back soon. No parties,” Rick chuckled, earning him another huff from Blue. Maybe the dog found him funny? Or maybe he’d just made a noise to make Rick stop talking.

Wouldn't be the first time, and as long as Lori existed in this world, it wouldn't be the last.

* * *

Rick wasn't lying when he said he’d never had a proper pet, other than that lousy goldfish. Staring at shelf after shelf of brightly colored packages proclaiming that this product was just the thing every pet owner needed, Rick’s shoulders slumped. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Okay, mental checklist.

He got wet and dry dog food, once Blue was off his special diet. A proper bed, a collar and leash, bowls, dog tags with Blue’s name and Rick’s address, and  _ tons  _ of toys. Rick was going to make sure Blue was completely spoiled. Maybe it would make up for the poor beginning of his life.

“That’s done,” he muttered to himself, pushing the cart he’d borrowed to carry all of his purchases out to his car. Maybe he should run by Hershel’s, see if there was any paperwork he needed to fill out for Blue’s shots, or his license. Then, once he got back, maybe Blue would be done eating, and then Rick could try to change the dog’s bandages. 

“Dad!”

Rick jerked his head up, and smiled widely. “Hey buddy,” he said, once Carl had run over to him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Mom took me to get a haircut ‘cause school pictures are coming up, and she said I looked like a ragamuffin.” Carl cocked his head to the side, and Rick felt like he was looking at a younger version of himself. “What’s a ragamuffin?”

Snorting out a laugh, Rick ruffled his son’s hair. “Someone who looks messy, I think.” 

Rick didn’t think Carl even heard his words. His son’s eyes were locked onto the contents of the cart, and they were getting bigger and bigger by the second.

“I’m getting a dog for my birthday!” Carl yelled, jumping up and down, and doing a little dance in the middle of the mall.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” a voice behind him said smoothly. Rick turned around, and nodded politely to Lori. “Your father wouldn’t do something so stupid. Especially not before clearing it with me. Right, Rick?”

Rick could feel the color draining from his face, even though he tried his best to shake away the sensation. No, he had to maintain some amount of control or Lori would see  _ right  _ through him.

“Uh, there was a, uh… A gang bust yesterday. We found a lot of d-"

“I saw that on the news!” Carl gasped, his eyes widening even more. “You arrested, like, fifty guys!”

“Not quite, but close enough,” Rick chuckled, giving Carl’s hair another ruffle, and turning to look at Lori.

She was looking at Rick with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed over her chest, and it reminded him momentarily of a sulking Shane. There was a major difference though; he could bribe Shane with food. It did  _ not _ work the same with Lori. 

“Yeah, we found some dogs. Some of them were people's pets, so we're finding their homes, but some were strays.”

“And you suddenly have to help them because? I think that's what  _ shelters  _ are for.” Lori’s eyes narrowed even more, sending a chill down his spine. He needed to decide right now if he was willing to lie to his son, or risk Lori’s wrath.

“I uh… I found a dog that had been injured, and I sort of… I took him in. So, I have a dog now.”

Lori’s gaze turned murderous. Rick jerked his gaze back to Carl, because, honestly, if he had to look into that woman’s eyes any longer, he felt like his internal organs would start to boil.

“Awesome, Dad! I wanna come over and see him! What’s his name? What’s he look like? Is he a big dog or a little dog? Is he nice? Does he like kids? Can I play with him? Does he know how to play fetch? Does he know any tricks?”

Rick knelt down and placed his hands on Carl’s shoulders. “Calm down, bud. Take a breath,” Rick laughed. “I named him Blue, because he has blue eyes, and his fur is blue, too.”

Carl’s eyes widened. “He has  _ blue _ fur?”

Rick laughed, and shook his head. “Blue is a fancy word for a greyish sort of color in animals. Not blue like a smurf.”

“When can I come over and play with him? Can I come now?” Carl turned and aimed pleading eyes at his mother. “Mom, can I go over to Dad’s and play with Blue,  _ please?” _

Before Lori could open her mouth, Rick turned Carl back towards him. “You can’t right now, Carl. Remember I said the dog was hurt? Some of the bad guys we arrested last night hurt him. So, he’s a little bit scared right now.”

A mixture of emotions flashed over his son’s face, starting with disappointment and surprise, and ending with pity. “Poor Blue…” he murmured, but he seemed to accept Rick’s answer. “He's gonna get better, right? Then I can see him?”

Rick smiled softly, and gave Carl another pat on his shoulder. “Of course, kiddo. It may take a little while, though, so we need to be patient for him. He might still be a little scared, but he's gonna be a good dog.”

“Awesome!” Carl grinned, bouncing on his feet then looking back at Lori. “I have a dog, Mom!”

The corner of Lori’s mouth was twitching at this point, but Carl seemed too thrilled to care. With one more jump, Carl circled the cart, eyes widening at all the items. “He's gotta be  _ huge _ !” Carl gasped, grabbing at the large blue collar, and then at the even larger dog bed.

Doing all he could to ignore Lori, Rick stood back up and reached for the collar. “He's pretty skinny right now. I think he used to be a stray, but once he gets some weight on, Blue will be a big dog.”

Rick could feel Lori’s stare burning into his head, and right now, all wanted was for her to switch her focus from the dog to Rick not getting a haircut in months. God knows, they couldn’t have his slightly overlong curls damaging Lori’s precious reputation.

Carl soon stole his attention again. “So what kind of dog is he?”

“I think some sort of hound dog. Like the book we read, “Where the Red Fern Grows?”

“But blue, not red.”

“Grey-ish.”

“Same diff.”

Clearly tired of being ignored, Lori said, “Well, Rick, I guess I’m not surprised you’d do something like this without consulting me. You’ve been inconsiderate of others for years. Even refusing to pick up your own son when he needs you.”

Rick clenched his jaw, and walked a few feet away, beckoning for Lori to join him. When she did, he took a deep breath, and said, “I understand that you don’t approve of me having a dog, but the second you kicked me out of the house and signed those divorce papers, you ceased to have any control over the way I live my life.

“I would bend over backwards, and have,  _ plenty _ of times, to make sure Carl is taken care of. Don’t you  _ dare _ say anything like that in front of him again,” Rick whispered, his tone deadly calm. “I go out of my way to make sure I talk about you in a positive light around him, and you should have enough respect for me, and for  _ him, _ to do the same.”

A slight flush crept up over the tops of Lori’s cheekbones. She looked down at her feet, but remained silent. Apparently, what he’d said wasn’t worthy of a response. Lori just turned around, avoiding even looking in Rick’s direction, and called out to Carl. “Come on, Carl. You need to be at your soccer practice in a half hour.”

Looking between his parents, Carl nodded. It was easy to pick up on the lingering hostility in the air, but Carl seemed to shrug it off. “I’ll call you before you go to bed tonight, bud. You can tell me all about practice, and,” Rick lowered his voice to a whisper, and waggled his eyebrows, “Tell me all about what’s going on with you and Enid.”

_ “Dad!” _

Rick smirked, and ruffled Carl’s hair one last time. “Go catch up with your mother, or you’ll be late, and she’ll make you eat lima beans for dinner.”

Carl scrunched up his face in disgust, and turned to race after Lori. “Bye, Dad!”

“See you, kiddo,” Rick chuckled, leaning against the cart as he watched his beloved son rush to his mother. Even with the horrible marriage, and the resulting difficulties that followed him every day, Lori had  _ still  _ given him the best thing that had ever happened to him. Rick would take a thousand days of Lori for just one with Carl without hesitation.

* * *

It had taken about an hour, but Rick’s living room now looked like a proper pet owner’s.

Dog toys were spread out across the floor, the dog bed was placed off the the side, between the couch and the recliner, and Rick had even gotten one of those little puzzle balls that he stuck treats inside. He’d hung the leash on the key rack, along with the collar, and he’d gotten bowls laid out in several places.

Rick couldn't contain his pride. He’d gotten  _ everything _ a dog could ever need, and more. Blue was going to be absolutely spoiled.

Whistling a tune, Rick picked up a squeaky toy and walked back to the laundry room. Blue was still under the table, but the food bowl Rick had left there was completely empty, and his position had changed. Chances were high that he’d at least gone outside.

“Hey, Blue,” Rick said. The dog’s ears perked up, but his head remained on his paws. He blinked open his blue eyes and huffed.

Rick got within two feet of him before Blue let out a single rumbling growl. That was his boundary, and Rick was fine with that, but that also meant it would be awkward trying to change his bandages later.

“I got you something,” Rick said with a grin, holding out a toy. It was a rubber squirrel with a fluffy tail attached. Giving it a quick squeeze, his grin widened. “Well, I got you a lot of things. But this is one of them.”

Blue continued to stare at him blankly, and Rick’s smile dimmed. “Here,” he murmured, tossing the toy lightly over towards Blue, nearly bumping the dog's nose.

Blue jolted, yanking his head back and glaring at the toy.

“Oh, come on,” Rick laughed. The offended look on Blue’s face was fucking priceless. He hadn’t know until right this moment that a dog could even  _ have _ expressions, but Blue definitely did. “Haven’t you ever had a toy before? It’s squeaky. Give it a try.”

Huffing again, Blue turned his back on the squirrel, though he made sure he never lost sight of Rick.

“Okay, I guess squeaky squirrels aren’t your thing.”

Rick stood up and made his way back into the living room. Rummaging through a bag he hadn’t unpacked yet, he pulled out a big blue rubber cone. A Kong. Apparently these things were extremely popular. Reaching further into the bag, he found the jar of organic peanut butter the saleswoman at the pet store had recommended, and opened it up.

Briefly glancing around for something to use as a spoon, Rich shrugged, and dug his fingers into the slightly oily peanut butter, shoving a nice big dollop of it inside the Kong. Licking at his fingers, he walked back into the laundry room.

“How about this one,” he grinned, lightly tossing the toy Blue’s way.

The toy bounced and rolled on the floor for a moment before coming to a stop about an inch away from Blue’s nose.

Lifting off his paws, Blue’s head tilted to the side, and he took in a long huff of air. Reaching out one paw, he knocked the toy closer, then snapped it up in his jaws. He tried his best to pin one end to the ground, so he could chew into the rubber for the peanut butter inside.

This would have been much easier it not for the plastic cone still around his head. It left Blue struggling to keep the toy inside the cone, his paws squishing in the plastic sides, and it didn’t take him long to realize that the peanut butter was  _ inside  _ the toy.

Rick was mildly impressed with how quickly Blue changed tactics. He laid his chin, and the bottom of the cone onto the ground, and nudged the toy inside. Managing to gain a grip on it with his jaws, his long tongue lapped at the peanut butter inside.

“You must have had that one before,” Rick mused, grabbing his sketchbook off the kitchen table before sitting down properly in front of Blue. It was slightly pathetic how entertained Rick was just watching this dog lick peanut butter out of a toy, but it was  _ something.  _ A small amount of trust, and associating Rick with something nice like peanut butter.

Still sitting there several minutes later, sketchbook balanced across his knees and the beginnings of Blue’s body shape sketched out, Rick heard his doorbell ring. Blue let out a startled yelp, crawling as far back into the corner as he could get.

“It’s alright, boy, just the doorbell,” Rick said calmly, getting to his feet. “Though I have no idea who it could be. No one ever comes over here.”

He opened the door, and Shane pushed past Rick into the house, pointing a finger at him, and launching into a lecture before Rick could so much as say hello. “I can’t believe you’ve got that fuckin’ dog here, man! What the hell is wrong with you? I get it, you feel bad that it got hurt, but shit! It’s a fucking fighting dog, Rick! You can’t have an animal like that around Carl!”

“Talked to Lori, I see.”

“I almost let it go to voicemail, but just in case something was wrong I picked it up. I got an earful, man,” Shane muttered, heading into the living room, and plopping himself down on the couch. There was a loud squeak when he sat down. “What the hell?”

Rick laughed under his breath when Shane pulled out a long bone shaped squeaky toy. “I went to the pet store today.”

Shane looked around the room at all the pet detritus. “I can see that. How much fucking money did you spend?”

Shrugging, Rick sat down in his recliner. “Little more than I planned, but I’m going to spoil this dog rotten. I don’t know why, but it’s really important to me that he’s happy.”

Shane snorted, staring down at some of the toys, his lips in a tight line, and his brow furrowed. He was obviously still deciding whether to be amused or angry with Rick. Sitting up, he shot a glare in Rick’s direction, and he knew Shane had decided.

“Rick. I'm fucking serious. I just got the numbers.” Leaning forward, Shane rested his elbows on his knees. “They had to put down sixteen more dogs.  _ Sixteen. _ And that was just at the warehouse last night. There's more that'll probably follow just ‘cause they're fucked up with bites and old staples and shit.”

Rick winced, and looked down at the ground. It wasn't as if he could have saved them. The fact that they tore into their own ‘masters’ with no hesitation… “This isn't the same, Shane. Blue isn't a bad dog.”

“You fucking named-" Shane groaned loudly, flopping back on the couch. He pressed his hands against his face, successfully muffling what were probably very colorful curses. “Rick!”

Finally lowering his hands, Shane leveled a finger at Rick again. “This is a dog that's been in  _ fights.  _ It doesn't matter if he was an attacker or if he was bait. It's a messed up dog who's gonna snap at anything that might even  _ look  _ like it'll hurt him.”

Not letting Rick speak, Shane continued. “He needs to be put down. Before he bites someone. If Michonne finds out that you're keeping a gang members dog, she's gonna demote your ass faster than you can say ‘katana.’" Everyone knew about the Sheriff's prized possession that hung in her office. People whispered, wondering if she knew how to use it, too, but the smart ones knew better than to ask.

“This dog isn’t like the other ones we found there. Since I’ve had him here, he hasn’t shown a single tooth. Not once.” Rick balled up his hands in his lap, and tried to  _ will _ Shane into understanding. “I’m going to give him a chance to be a normal dog. I don’t care what you and Lori have to say about it, to be completely honest.”

Shane shook his head, and said, quietly, “Bob took one of the dogs home last night. It seemed real friendly, so he decided to give it a chance. Like the one you’re giving this dog.” Lowering his eyes to the floor, Shane spoke in a monotone voice. “That’s another reason I came over. To give you the news.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Rick asked. “What news?”

“Bob is in the hospital. The dog attacked him, and before he could get to his gun, it managed to do a lot of damage. He’s going to lose his leg.”

Rick froze. “Shit,” he muttered, his eyes wide. “I… Shit.” He lowered his head, and rested his forehead on his palms. He didn’t think Blue was going to do anything like that, but he had to admit, at least to himself, the possibility was there.

“Still think it’s a good idea to keep him?”

“I might be starting to reconsider,” Rick muttered, grudgingly.

“Do it quick.” Shane looked away from Rick, sucking in a deep breath. Pulling himself to his feet, he stared down at all the toys scattered around. “If you're gonna get a dog, get one that won’t tear your limbs off. It was…” Shane shuddered. “Damn. Keep your gun on you, that's all I gotta say.”

His partner nudged a toy with his foot, before turning back to the door. “I won’t tell anyone if you get rid of it on your own, or take it to Hershel.” Running his hand through his hair, he let out one more long sigh. “I'm sorry, man. Just… it's gotta be done.”

“I’m not going to decide anything today,” Rick groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “I haven’t done anything but go to the pet store, and bum around my house, why am I so fucking exhausted?”

Shane snorted. “Maybe because you’re out of shape, and going to the store wore out your frail, pasty little body.”

Rick glared at Shane, and flipped up his middle finger.

Walking the rest of the way to the door, Shane paused just as he grasped the handle, his expression sobering. “I'm serious, Rick. Be careful with this.” Glancing back up at his partner, Shane pulled open the door and stepped outside, shutting it softly behind him.

Rick stared at that door for several long minutes, hoping Shane would come back, tell him the news about Bob had been a sick joke, but he didn’t. Maybe Rick just didn't want to be alone with his thoughts, or the doubts that were beginning to plague him.

The sound of a squeak made Rick nearly jump out of his chair, and he jerked his head towards the sound, his eyes to widening.

Rick didn't know how, or why, but there he was:  _ Blue.  _ Standing just a few feet away from him, with the squeaky squirrel held delicately in his powerful jaws. Even though he shivered where he stood, on weak, unsteady legs, he still stared back at Rick with those deep blue eyes.

Blue limped closer and closer to where Rick was sitting, open mouthed, in the recliner. When he was as close as he could get, Blue dropped the toy on top of Rick’s foot, and looked at him expectantly.

Lifting a hand, Rick tentatively extended it toward the dog. Blue shut his eyes, his trembling increasing, but he stayed put. Rick settled his hand on the dog’s back, gently ruffling his fur. He felt the ridges of scars and stitches beneath his fingers, but they were Blue’s past, now. Rick wouldn’t let him be hurt like that again.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Blue. I promise,” he whispered.

Blue huffed out a breath, and turned his face towards Rick, easing his head down until his muzzle was resting across Rick’s thigh.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You’re not going to bite. You won’t hurt anyone.” He continued carding his fingers through the big dog’s fur, avoiding his wounds the best he could. Slowly, Blue’s trembling eased, and when Rick was pulling his hand away, a long pink tongue licked against it.

Feeling his heart melting away inside his chest, Rick carefully reached forward and cupped Blue's head in his hands, their eyes meeting, and for a moment, it felt like they were connected. Like they understood each other. Running his thumbs along Blue’s cheeks, Rick smiled.

“You're  _ my _ good boy.”


	6. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue is still a good dog, Rick swears. He just has... issues. Complicated issues.

Blue was a mystery.

If there was anything that Rick had learned in the last three weeks, it was that. He'd never even  _ heard  _ of a dog like Blue. One so smart, one so… Rick didn't even know how to describe it.

And no, it wasn't because Blue was his dog that automatically made him the best dog. Rick was not that petty. He didn't think so, at least.

Rick could feel Blue starting to trust him. Blue had stuck pretty strictly to the laundry room for the first week, and Rick would sit with him. He’d started leaving a sketchbook in there, too, just in case he got the urge to draw. He’d tried to tempt Blue with different toys, but after a dozen squeaking toys, a few tug ropes, and some other random toys, it seemed like he had chosen the squeaky squirrel as his personal favorite.

Blue would carry it around in the rare times that he stepped outside the laundry room, almost like a child with their blanket. Rick learned early on to not try to take the toy away, since whenever he tried, Blue would scramble back to the laundry room. But, all in all, he was getting better.

Now it was time to show someone else the strides that Blue had made. He was going to start with Hershel and having Blue’s stitches removed. Rick glanced to the back seat of his car, smirking to himself. Blue was watching out the window, paws and nose pressed against the glass.

Another thing he’d learned about his new housemate was how attentive Blue was. He was always watching, his focus sharp. Even little things like Rick hiding a ball behind his back and pretending to throw it didn't phase him.

Not to mention he never failed to notify Rick that it was time for him to be fed. Almost right on the dot, even when Rick worked odd hours, Blue still knew when it was time for dinner. Speaking of food… Holy hell, did Blue start gaining weight once he was on a regular schedule. The skeletal form was no more, even in the short three weeks that Rick’d had him. Sure, his ribs still were a bit more visible than Rick liked, but it was a massive improvement.

Chuckling to himself, Rick pulled into the clinic parking lot. It had surprised Hershel when he'd called to set up this appointment. Apparently Hershel thought Rick would have given up on the dog by now. 

Looking at Blue, panting happily in the backseat, Rick smiled. They still had a ways to go. Blue was still jumpy, and he startled at the smallest sound. He was more affectionate now, though. He’d even gone so far as rolling over on his back the other night, and offering up his belly for a quick scratch. It hadn’t lasted very long, and directly afterwards Blue had scrambled into the laundry room and hidden underneath the table. Still. It was progress. Now he just had to find out if that progress would be applied to a trip to the vet.

Rick clipped on Blue’s leash, earning him one of the offended looks the dog seemed to love giving. Smiling, he patted at the top of Blue’s head. “I can’t just let you roam free, Blue.  _ I _ know you’re a good boy, but some of the people in there have dealt with dogs that have the same kind of background you have, and they weren’t very friendly.”

Tensing when Rick opened the door, Blue jumped down from the car. He immediately flattened himself to the ground, and started digging his paws into the dirt, pulling hard on the leash. It was almost like he was trying to crawl his way into the building in front of them.

When a low whine started coming from Blue’s throat, Rick took the hint, and started towards the side of the building marked, ‘Dogs’.

“Calm down, Blue,” Rick soothed, his voice jerky due to the constant pulling the dog was doing on the leash. When he finally reached the door, Blue pressed his flank against it, trembling faintly, that whine still coming from low in his throat. His eyes were rolling around in his head wildly, like he was trying to see everything around them all at once.

Now this was new. It was true, though, that Rick had yet to take Blue out for a real walk. He limited any exercise to the back yard, not wanting to take any chances with Blue's temperament. But now that they were outside… What was going on inside Blue's head?

Trying to make sure he was not crowding the dog, Rick reached out and grabbed the doorknob, opening the door. Blue tripped over the door jamb, but quickly stumbled up to his feet. Rick winced, knowing that even though his wounds were almost fully healed it must have still been painful.

Once Rick closed the door behind them, Blue’s muscles began to unclench and smooth out again. His tail was still tucked low, and his ears pressed back against his head, showing that he was nervous. “It's okay, buddy,” Rick soothed as best as he could, though he refrained from touching the dog. Let him come back on his own. Don't force anything.

A soft gasp made Rick look up, and he met Beth Greene’s eyes. She was standing behind her desk and craning her neck to get a better look at Blue. “That  _ cannot  _ be the same dog. No way. Even  _ Daddy  _ couldn’t make him better that quick.”

Rick shrugged, and smiled at her. “It’s been three weeks. And I’ve been doing everything Hershel said to do. Got him on a feeding schedule and everything.” He reached down when Blue pressed a shoulder into his thigh, and rubbed at the top of his head. “He even brings me his bowl to fill up if I forget. He’s really smart. Smarter than any other dog I’ve seen.”

Rounding the counter, Beth came out from behind the desk, and lifted a hand to pet the dog that was still pressed up tight against Rick’s leg. Rick grabbed her hand before it could get too close. “I wouldn’t. He’s okay with me now, but it took us some time to get there. Don’t want to chance it, you know?”

Beth smiled and nodded. “I’m glad he looks so much better. Daddy was sure that he’d never see you in here with him again. That he was a lost cause.” Looking down at Blue, whose ears had perked up when Beth started talking, she smiled again, even wider than before. “Looks like you  _ are _ a good boy, aren’t you?”

Blue trembled a bit, but he took a hesitant step forward, flicking his tongue out to lap at Beth’s fingers before quickly retreating back to Rick’s side.

“Oh my god, he’s so sweet! Look at him!” Beth cooed, and Rick could tell she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around the big dog’s neck.

Blue let out a soft whine beside him, tilting his head up to look at Rick, as if pleading for help. Patting the top of his head, Rick cleared his throat. “Is Hershel busy?” he asked, giving her a small smile.

“Oh!” Beth jumped back to full height, then rushed to the hallway. It was apparent that the still-teenaged girl was here mostly to pet whatever animal came through the doors rather than do any real work. 

She disappeared into a room, then popped back out a minute later. “He's ready! Keep the leash on, though. There's some dogs in the kennels in back. We don't want him running off if he gets frightened.”

Chuckling under his breath, Rick gave a small tug on Blue's leash, waiting to start being jerked around by the dog. Instead, Blue looked up at him, waiting. Blinking, Rick finally took a step forward, and watched as Blue did the same. Still watching him. Rick took another step, and Blue repeated.

They continued their awkward walk deeper into the clinic, Rick expecting Blue to bolt at any second, but once he stepped into the hall, Rick started to move at a more normal pace, not bothering to hide his grin when Blue walked right beside him, step for step.

That was until Rick and Blue stepped into the examination room to see Hershel already pulling on gloves. Blue's eyes went wide and he froze where he stood, inches outside the door.

Rick knelt down next to Blue, and put an arm around his shoulders, hugging the tense animal to his chest. “It’s alright, Blue. Hershel is just going to look at your stitches, and make sure you’re healed up enough to take them out. He’s not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“Can’t really make that sort of promise, son. Stitches can be tricky sometimes. Might sting a little bit when I take ‘em out,” Hershel drawled, looking at Rick and Blue where they knelt on the floor.

Rick just shook his head, and focused entirely on Blue. He ran his hand soothingly through the thick fur on his back, and down into the softer fur around his sides. “He’s right, it might sting a little bit, but Hershel would never hurt you on purpose.” He addressed the older man without ever taking his eyes of Blue. “Isn’t that right, Hershel?”

“Of course is it. Never hurt no one on purpose that didn’t deserve it. And I’ve never met an animal that deserved cruelty. Even the ones that came through here a few weeks ago.”

Another soft whine came from Blue and he shifted on his feet. Rick waited for the dog to relax before he stood back up, and tugged lightly on the leash. “C'mon, boy, you can do it. I'll give you a treat when we're done.”

That seemed to catch Blue's interest, his ears perking and his paws shifting again. Licking his chops, Blue finally stepped into the room, nails clicking against the tiled floor.

“There you go, good boy,” Rick praised, his smile growing as he watched Blue walk entirely into the room, stopping by the table. “Now, I'll just pick you up and put y-"

Before Rick could finish his sentence, Blue bunched up his muscles and jumped for the ledge of the steel table, immediately struggling when he only managed to get his front paws hooked onto it. He managed to hang on to the edge for a couple of seconds before dropping back down to the floor.

Rick let out a surprised wheeze that turned into a laugh. “Blue!” he laughed as the dog stumbled back to his feet, avoiding Rick’s gaze.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Hershel murmured, a hand stroking over his white beard, “I’d say that’s one embarrassed dog.”

“He probably could have done it if the table wasn’t so slick. He got up on top of the one in my laundry room just fine. Slept in a pile of my clean clothes.”

Hershel chuckled. “I’ve had a few do that over at my place, too.”

“Alright, Blue, let’s try this again,” Rick said, bending to pick up the large dog. He still needed to gain some weight, but that didn’t mean he was light. Probably somewhere in the neighborhood of seventy pounds.

Letting out a grunt, Rick settled Blue onto the table, getting a lick to the face for his effort. “Yeah,” he grinned, scratching behind one of the dog’s ears, “You’re welcome, bud.”

With one last chuckle from Hershel, he stepped over and placed a hand on the table. Just as he had expected, Blue leaned down and gave it a few good sniffs, then snorted. One quick shake of his body, and Blue seemed to resign himself to sitting on the table.

Hershel raised an eyebrow, but continued to keep silent. “We'll check the wounds first, then we can get him weighed and maybe start on some vaccines…”

The examination began without incident. Hershel refrained from touching as much as he could, and tried to remain in sight of Blue. There had been a few low growls when he prodded closer towards the dog’s belly, but Rick had Blue soothed in moments. Touching Blue’s throat had also been a tense moment, with another low growl that Rick eventually contained.

Hershel agreed that some of the more minor wounds could have their stitching removed, but not all of them. Before that, though, it was time to do a normal check-up.

Blue weighed in at 78 pounds, though Hershel said that he could gain another twenty easy. Hershel checked his paws and nails, making sure there were no issues that fighting could have caused, then finally stepped away from the table. “I just need to take his temperature,” Hershel said as he picked through his drawers for a moment before holding up a thermometer.

Hershel eyed Blue warily, and then looked over to Rick. “You might want to get his attention. I really doubt he’ll appreciate this.”

Rick nodded, and threw his arm around Blue’s neck again, speaking in a low, soothing voice.

Moving around to the end of the table, Hershel grabbed hold of Blue’s tail and raised it into the air. Blue whipped his head around, a look on his face that Rick couldn’t call anything but scandalized, and let out a short yip.

“It’ll only take a second, buddy, don’t worry,” Rick said, rubbing his hand down Blue’s back.

Hershel was done moments later, and he pronounced Blue healthy, with the exception of his remaining stitches. The cut on his shoulder still was stitched up tight, as well as a few particularly nasty gashes on his back. The rest of the wounds had already started to fade into the mess of scars already present just beneath the fur.

“I’ve got to say, Rick, he’s improved remarkably in the time you’ve had him,” Hershel mused, leaning against the counter. “I almost don’t recognize him.”

“He’s a good dog. A little bit skittish, but I think that’s to be expected after what he went through.”

Hershel nodded. “I’d still take care, and not let him around Carl too much. Especially without supervision. He’s a good boy, but he’s still a boy. Children can be unintentionally cruel sometimes.”

Even though it pained Rick to admit it, he nodded. There just wasn't enough certainty that Blue would behave around Carl. “Lori hasn't even seen him,” Rick sighed, running his fingers through his hair, and tugging on an errant curl. “She's got it in her head that he's some steroid-fueled killing machine.” He looked over at Blue, and chuckled, giving the big dog a fond pat. “Meanwhile, you don't even like chewing on your toys because you don't want to ruin them, don’t you, boy?”

“Just be cautious. He could have been in that gang for more than a few days. Could have been there for weeks. Months. It just takes one moment to trigger something in him,” Hershel warned through narrowed eyes, but there was still softness there. The older man wanted to believe that Blue was as harmless as Rick said.

“I understand,” Rick said, running his hand up and down the dog's back. He paused, then looked back up. “Do you have any… warning signs? Things I should look out for?”

Relief trickled into Hershel’s expression, and he shifted to stand up straight again. “Dogs can have different triggers, just like people. Could be like ringing a bell at the start of a fight, or grabbing him around his head. They'll go into fight or flight mode. If they're going to fight, they'll bulk up to look larger and show their teeth as they growl. If they would rather flee, they won't show teeth and will stay close to the ground.”

Rick listened intently as Hershel described different types of body language, trying to make as many mental notes as he could. Blue had been showing more flight instincts out in the parking lot… Perhaps that was a good sign that he would rather run than fight. Once the long discussion was over, Rick helped Blue back onto the ground and reattached his leash.

“Thanks for everything, Hershel,” Rick said, shaking his hand while Blue waited at his side. Hershel smiled. It was when he turned away to walk out the room that Hershel spoke up again. 

“Oh. Something I would recommend. If you wish to have more peace of mind, for Lori’s sake, if not your own, perhaps you could consider taking Blue to an obedience trainer.”

* * *

Deciding that Blue had had enough stressful experiences for one day, Rick figured that actually meeting a trainer could wait a few days. He set up a couple appointments ahead of time, though. They were headed back to his house, Blue with his head completely out the window, his tongue flapping in the breeze, when Rick passed a familiar building.

“Hey, Blue, how about a treat for being so well behaved at the vet’s office, huh?” he asked, chuckling when Blue’s head whipped around at the word, ‘treat’. “I guess you approve, then.”

Heading around to the drive through, Rick ordered his favorite lemon cake, and an iced americano. He felt a little bit bad for not going over to Carol’s place, but he wasn’t ready to test Blue around Sophia yet.

When he got to the window, he looked apologetically at the cashier. “I’m sorry, but I forgot his treat,” Rick said, jerking a thumb back in Blue’s direction. “You’ve got stuff he can have right?”

The cashier nodded happily, and smiled at Blue. “One puppuccino, coming up.” 

After taking the bag with his cake, and setting his coffee and Blue’s treat in the holder, he pulled around into a parking space.

“Up here, Blue,” he said, patting at the passenger seat.

Blue’s ears perked up, and he hopped over the divider, sitting in the seat looking expectantly at Rick, and licking his chops.

“Here you go,” Rick grinned, pulling the lid off the cup, and holding it out to Blue. He was a little bit leary about having his hand so close to something Blue was supposed to eat, but since he hadn’t really shown any food aggression, Rick gave it a shot.

Sniffing at the small cup, Blue took a hesitant lick, and then dove in with gusto. In seconds, his whole muzzle had disappeared inside the cup, and Rick had to struggle to keep it elevated. “I guess you like that, huh?” he laughed.

When he pulled back, white cream outlining his mouth, Rick couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement. “Didn’t know you liked wearing lipstick, Blue. It’s a good look,” he said, snorting again.

Blue huffed, and licked his muzzle clean, then turned his back to Rick, staring pointedly out the window.

After a solid minute of laughter, Rick let out a few final chuckles, and patted Blue on the back. “I'm sorry, buddy,” he said, even though he really wasn't. After one more grumble from Blue, Rick relented and rolled down the window. When he caught sight of Blue’s long tail wagging across the seat, Rick decided that he had been forgiven.

The rest of the drive home was peaceful, with Blue sometimes getting excited over seeing a bird or some sort of ‘thing’ that he wanted to either catch or chase, whining softly as he watched them disappear into the distance. Blue wasn't a barker at all, at least not inside the house. He got by with nudges and grumbles, and maybe a growl if Rick was doing something stupid. Other than that, near silence. It was almost unnatural.

Something else that was unnatural was the fact that there was a car in his driveway that wasn't his. But Rick recognized it immediately. 

“Shit,” he groaned, pulling up in front of his house.  He turned off the car and sank down in his seat. Great. Now what was Shane here for?

Blue reacted to Rick’s agitation by shifting from foot to foot, and letting out a little whine. “No, don't worry, it's nothing,” Rick sighed, reaching over blindly and managing to find Blue’s back without jabbing at his remaining stitches.

The last few weeks had been uncomfortable to say the least. Shane would usually open up the day with: So, Blue hasn't tried to rip out your throat? Which had quickly grown irritating. The chatter in the car was almost mute, and it seemed like Blue was driving a wedge between them.

“Okay,” he finally said, sitting back up and looking to Blue, who was already staring back into his eyes. Like always. “So, Shane is kind of an asshole, but he's my friend. And I really,  _ really  _ want him to like you.” Knowing full well how ridiculous he was being by talking to a dog who still had some whipped cream on his nose, Rick continued. “Just… Show him you're a good dog. Just like with me. Lay on the couch, give him a toy, anything.”

Blue nudged his head under Rick’s hand, and whined softly. “That’s right,” Rick said, smiling softly. “Good boy.”

Getting out of the car, Rick reached for Blue’s leash, and headed up to the door where Shane was waiting.

“Still hasn’t eaten your face, huh?” Shane taunted. 

Rick rolled his eyes. “I told you, he’s not going to do anything like that. I just took him to see Hershel, and he behaved perfectly.”

Shane scoffed, and looked down at Blue. “He looks less shitty than he did last time I saw him. Less like something you dragged in off the street.”

“Because I’m taking care of him, Shane. What are you doing here?”

Shane held up a DVD case. “Saving Private Ryan. I thought we could have a couple of beers, and you know…” Shane kicked at the ground with the toe of his boot. “Just hang out. I feel like you got a new best friend, man.”

Rick shook his head, and motioned for Shane to step out of the doorway. “Get out of the way, you big sap,” he grinned, unlocking his door. “There’s a twelve pack of Blue Moon in the fridge.”

“Sweet!” Shane exclaimed, cracking a huge smile. “You got any oranges?”

“Nope.” Rick looked over, and laughed at the pout now on Shane’s face. “Hey, beggars and choosers, man. Get over it.” 

Leading Blue into the laundry room, Rick unclipped his leash, and opened up the door. “I’m sure you’ve got some business to take care of, Mr. Blue,” he said, bowing low in front of the dog. He swore the dog had an almost amused expression on his face before he trotted into the backyard.

Walking into the kitchen, he found Shane with his entire head stuck in the refrigerator. “Dude, you came over here for beer, don’t eat all my food.”

“What food?” Shane grumbled, pulling back and frowning at Rick. “All you have in here are cold cuts and condiments.”

Rick shrugged. “I can’t cook. Sue me.”

Shane snagged a bag of sriracha popcorn off the counter, and walked back out into the living room. “What’d’ya feed Carl when he comes over?”

“I’ve got hamburger helper and stuff like that in the pantry. Frozen vegetables in the fridge. Idiot proof.”

“You’d know,” Shane quipped from his position sprawled out on the end of Rick’s couch, one of his hands buried in the popcorn, and the other holding the remote. “S’Ready to go,” he said, barely audible thanks to the handful of popcorn he’d just shoved into his mouth.

Rick rolled his eyes, and sat down on the other end of the couch, handing Shane his beer. 

After a minute or two, Blue wandered in, and sat at Rick’s feet. Shane squirmed around in his seat, and glanced at Rick.

“He always do that?”

“What?”

“Stare like that,” Shane said. “It’s fucking creepy.”

Rick grinned, and nodded. “You’re in his spot.”

“Well, ex-fucking-scuse me, your royal dogness,” Shane drawled, getting up and moving into the recliner.

Blue immediately hopped onto the couch, and curled himself up on the cushion. He stared at Shane for a moment longer, then, in a move Rick had seen him do before, turned his eyes towards the television.

He’d never seen a dog watch TV before, but Blue seemed to enjoy it. He particularly liked South Park, a guilty pleasure show of Rick's, and he really loved The Food Network. Especially Alton Brown. Rick may have been a shitty cook, but he liked watching the shows. And Good Eats was his favorite. He’d always liked learning the science behind things.

Settling back in his seat, Rick focused on the movie. He remembered going to see it in the theater with his dad on opening weekend. During the Omaha Beach scene, there was a group of older men that had gotten up and walked out. One of them in particular had looked pretty upset. Turning his eyes back to the screen and watching a kid pick his severed arm up off the beach, and walk off with it, Rick could understand why.

Moments after that scene, Rick heard an odd sound. It was like what he thought it would sound like if you converted the feeling of your stomach turning inside out into a noise. Glancing up, Rick looked over at Shane, but his eyes were fixed on the screen. And he was still somehow eating popcorn.

Passing off the sound for something in the movie, since it wasn't unlike it to use such gut wrenching sound effects, Rick looked back to the screen. But then he heard it again. And then rustling. Frowning, this time Rick looked down at Blue.

His paws were twitching. Odd. Watching a few seconds longer, he noticed that Blue’s flanks were twitching too, and his breathing had become heavier. Concerned, Rick flicked his gaze to Shane, who now was looking at Blue as well.

“Dude, is he okay?” Shane mumbled through his popcorn, shifting in his seat and leaning over to get a better look. “Hey, I'm sorry I took your seat. No need to get in a fit over it.”

“Shane,” Rick hissed softly under his breath, then looked back down to Blue. The twitching in his paws had worsened, though the rest of his body had gone stone stiff. His blue eyes were unblinking, still staring at the screen. “Blue?” Rick murmured, reaching over to touch him.

_ “Mama… Mama…!” _

Rick winced, turning back to the screen. That scene had always stuck with him. He was just a kid. Now he was laid out on the bloodied beach, his insides spilling out, begging for his mother-

Suddenly, an explosion of noise and motion came from beside him. Blue tore from the couch, and even in the blur, Rick could see the wideness of his eyes and the white flash of his snapping jaws.

The same dog that had been lying calmly next to him had turned into a beast. All of his fur was on end, and he was making the most horrible noises. Hellish snarls mixed with earsplitting barks. His powerful jaws snapped at the image on the screen, at such a speed that within seconds, foam started gathering on the edges of his lips.

“What the  _ fuck!”  _ Shane yelled, leaping out of his chair. Rick couldn't look away from Blue’s bulging eyes, now staring blankly at the television. The hail of gunfire coming from the screen was almost muted by his snarling and he could  _ hear  _ Blue’s teeth snapping together at an unseen enemy.

Rick scrambled for the remote control to turn the movie off. Whatever was freaking Blue the fuck out was on that screen, and it was the only thing Rick could think of to do. His hands fumbled to pick it up, and point it at the TV, and his fingers were shaky on the button, but he finally managed to turn off the movie.

When the sound of the gunfire and explosions died out, Blue slowly stopped barking. His head whipped around, blindly searching the room, before he started sinking into the floor. His eyes remained wide and blank to anything around him, his tail wrapped tight between his legs. He panted heavily, seeming to be waiting for the noise to come back as he pressed himself down to the ground.

Rick cautiously moved forward, and reached out a hand, but before he could make contact, Blue bolted from the room. He body was sunk so low to the ground that Rick could barely see space between his belly and the floor. He veered off, and Rick knew immediately where he’d gone. The laundry room.

“Jesus Christ, Rick!” Shane yelled from his position on top of the recliner. “Has anything like that ever happened before?”

Rick shook his head, and swallowed down the thick lump of fear that had grown in his throat. “I’ve never seen him like that. Ever.”

“You can’t keep a fucking dog like that, man! He’s goddamn crazy!”

“Something triggered him, Shane. Hershel said to watch for things like that. And after I shut it off…” Rick stared in the direction Blue had gone, and whispered, “He looked terrified.”

Shane pointed a shaking finger at Rick, and jumped down off the recliner. “I’ve fucking told you. Multiple times now. If you keep that fucking dog, and he ends up biting you, or Lori, or  _ Carl,  _ that’s on you. It’ll be your fault.”

Throwing his final words over his shoulder, Shane stalked to the door. “Don’t expect to see me around here anymore. I’d rather not get mauled by Cujo in there.”

“Shane, it's not his fault! There's something wrong, I can fix it!”

“You can  _ fix it?!” _ Shane snapped, abandoning the door to stare at Rick through narrowed eyes. “You can't  _ fix  _ that, Rick. That…  _ thing  _ is a goddamn monster!”

“But he didn't  _ do  _ anything!” Rick protested, even though that lump of fear was getting bigger and bigger and becoming harder to swallow down. “He was scared! I was right next to him, he could have bit me, but he  _ didn't.  _ It's something else, man.”

Shane glowered at Rick, his lips pulled back. “And what about next time? Or the time after that? What if it happens with  _ Carl _ ? You're just gonna let that dog lose his shit and be _ fine  _ with it?”

“No! I-I’ll… I'll take him to someone.”

“Yeah. To death row.”

Rick flinched under Shane’s cold words. “N-no. To a trainer. He has issues, but you don't  _ kill  _ something for having issues! I don't see you trying to put down veterans or retired cops!”

“Those are  _ humans. _ This is a  _ dog. _ ” Snarling to himself, Shane pressed his palms against his eyes and took in a deep breath. “I can't fucking take this, I can't just  _ stand  _ here and watch you get yourself killed! If I gotta go to the fucking station myself and report this shit, to keep that dog from ripping your throat out, I will!”

“You have to give me some time, man! This is the first time something like this has happened! I was talking to Hershel about it today at his vet appointment. There’s a trainer a few towns over that specializes in aggressive and abused dogs. I’ve got an appointment to see her in a couple days.”

Rick pinched at the bridge of his nose, and whispered, “Just give me some time, Shane. Let me see if I can help him. I won’t let Carl near him, and I’ll keep him in the laundry room until I can go see that trainer. Please.”

Shane didn't speak right away, and Rick prayed that it meant he was thinking. That he was going to give Rick a chance. Give _Blue_ a chance. Rick pulled his hands away from his face as Shane let out a long groan. His partner had his hands in his hair, tugging on it, and was starting to pace.

After a few moments of that, Shane spun around to face Rick again. “One week. If you don't get answers after  _ one week _ , I'm done. I'm serious. This is the last chance I'm gonna give you, Rick.”

“I got it,” Rick said, his shoulders slumping in relief.

“Fucking crazy, letting you do this,” Shane muttered, as he pulled open the door. “I’m counting down the fucking hours, man. Don’t fucking doubt it.”

Rick nodded, but Shane was already gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Turning on his heels, Rick headed into the laundry room, hoping to find Blue. The dog was underneath the table, whimpering. His head was tucked into the corner of the wall, and shivers were visibly coursing through his body.

“Oh, Blue,” Rick sighed, getting down on his knees, and moving as close to the dog as he dared. “What the hell happened to you, boy? And how are we going to fix you?”

Blue’s head lifted at the sound of Rick’s voice. His whimpering increased in volume, and slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, he crept closer to Rick. After a few moments, he was close enough to lay his head down on Rick’s thigh, and he let out the most miserable sound Rick had ever heard an animal make.

“It’s okay, Blue,” Rick soothed, spearing his fingers into Blue’s thick coat. “We’ll figure it out. I’m not going to let you down. I promise.”


	7. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Blue is much more than just a good boy.

That night, Rick called the specialist Herschel had recommended, and begged her for an earlier appointment. After explaining the situation, she didn’t hesitate to schedule him for the next day. Rick sent a text to Shane to let him know, and getting no response, ended up spending most of the night in the laundry room. 

Blue had been almost glued against his body the entire time, shivering and whimpering with his head tucked into Rick’s chest. The entire time, Blue never opened his eyes. It made Rick fear what Blue was really seeing. After sitting there for an hour, Rick managed to find the squeaky squirrel and Blue had hesitantly taken it, like he feared the toy would be taken away as punishment.

It was difficult getting Blue to the car once morning came, since he seemed to revert back to the cowering stray Rick had first taken in. He had to carry the dog, and after setting down some blankets and toys, he finally managed to make Blue comfortable enough to sit still and stop trying to sprint back to the house.

The dog spent the entire half hour long drive with his rubber squirrel in his mouth, giving it a squeak every now and then. And when they finally arrived at the trainer’s house, Blue still didn’t let the toy go. Rick didn't try very hard to take it away, either.

Rick caught himself almost white knuckling Blue's leash, and scolded himself for giving Blue so little lead, but it was that fear. The fear that had never truly gone away no matter how much Blue had improved. 

As he walked up to the door, he barely had the chance to lift his hand before it opened.

“You must be Rick!” The woman on the other side said, and if she was the one he’d talked to on the phone, her name was Tara. She was shorter than him, but that didn't seem to make much of a difference to her, as she grabbed onto his wrist and pulled him into the house, Blue being dragged in as well.

As soon as Rick was inside, he found himself staring at an entire wall of pictures of dogs. Most of them were German Shepherds, others labradors, some of them in uniform for K-9 units or even the military. Tara was in nearly every picture.

When Hershel had recommended her, Rick had no idea just how in-depth she was in training. This wasn't just obedience. This was  _ actual  _ training.

His mouth had dropped open at some point, but Tara didn't seem to mind. Or she simply didn't care. “Hershel filled me in on most of the details,” she said, and Rick turned his head to look back at her. “Dog fighting ring. I had most of them come through here already.”

Managing to move his jaw back in place, he watched as she walked around the room, her eyes fixed on Blue. Rick couldn't help but notice a limp to her step as she moved around Blue, her trained eyes looking at him from all angles. It was only when she stepped back in front of him that Rick realized why.

She had a prosthetic leg.

It was plainly visible, as she was just wearing shorts, and cut off just below the knee.

“Iraq, 2006.”

Rick blinked. “Um… Huh?” He mumbled, tilting his head as he looked back at her face. She crossed her arms over her chest, a slightly amused expression on her face. 

“Everyone does this. I just get it cleared up right away, so we don't have to linger on it.” Tara motioned down to her leg, or to be more precise, the lack of one. “Iraq, 2006, landmine. I was lucky. I was working with a bomb dog. He's fine, by the way.”

Blinking again, Rick tried his best to process that information, only to wind up blank anyway. “You, uh… You train police dogs? Service dogs?”

“Have been ever since I could enlist. I have dogs down in Texas, Florida, all over Georgia, even had a few transfer to New York.” Pride was clearly audible in her voice as she turned to look at her wall of photos. “When I was on tour, I worked with the dogs there.”

Rick cleared his throat, and held out a hand. “Thank you,” he said, continuing when Tara just looked confused. “For your service.”

Tara grinned, and held out her fist. Rick cocked his head to the side, and just looked at her.

“Don’t leave me hanging, Rick! Bump it!”

“Uh…” Rick balled his hand into a fist, and bumped their hands together. 

“Next time, don’t leave me hanging for so long.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rick said, looking down at Blue. He was staring at Tara with what Rick thought was interest.

“Now, lets see what we have here.” Squatting down, Tara held out her hand to Blue, and, to Rick’s surprise, Blue didn’t hesitate to put his paw out for her to shake. “I think we have us a smart one here.”

Looking at Blue through narrowed eyes, Tara grinned. “I’ve got an idea. Just go with me on this, huh?”

Rick nodded, and followed along behind her, impressed that she didn’t let her missing leg hamper her everyday life.

Tara opened up a large door, and Rick’s mouth dropped open. The room had to be roughly half the size of a football field, and it was filled with various obstacles. Frankly, looking at some of them, Rick had his doubts that  _ any _ dog would be able to complete them.

“This is the advanced training room. We take the dogs who start in agility, but get a little bit bored, and start training them in here. A military dog’s playground.”

“You have dogs that can complete all of these?” Rick asked, his eyes drawn to a series of poles that were planted in the ground. Each topped with a round piece of wood that he thought would be just a bit bigger around than Blue’s paws.

“Oh yeah. A lot quicker than you’d imagine, too.”

Blue started quivering at his side, and Rick looked down in alarm, but when he did… Blue was vibrating with  _ excitement. _ His eyes were wide open, and he was looking around at all the obstacles intently. 

“I think he wants to give it a shot.” Tara bent down, and talked directly to Blue. “How ‘bout it, boy? Want to have a run at the course?”

Blue bunched up his muscles and Rick was preparing to have to haul him back from possibly biting Tara directly on the face, but he just dropped his precious squirrel, stood up on his hind legs, and waved his front paws madly in the air.

While Rick stood there dumbfounded, probably with a ridiculous expression on his face, Tara quietly took the leash. She grabbed hold of Blue’s collar, and unclipped it. “Ready, Blue?”

Quivering, Blue let out a short bark, his tail wagging so fast it was a blur.

“Go!” Tara yelled, letting go of his collar.

Blue took off like there was a herd of zombies on his heels.

He cleared the poles Rick had eyed earlier without a problem, stepping on the small platforms that had to be at least four or five feet in the air without any hesitation. Somehow, he managed to climb over a rope bridge that Rick thought he himself would have had trouble with. He even cleared what looked like an eight foot high wall.

Tara watched him the entire time, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “Your boy has had some training, Rick. A lot, if my guess is right.”

Rick just stared, speechless.

Blue was gearing up for another run around the course when Tara whistled sharply. He turned his head in her direction, ears perked up, and listened intently.

“Come,” Tara called out, and Blue started trotting back toward them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and panting heavily.

“Heel.”

Blue calmly circled around Tara, pressing his body against her left thigh. When he got there, he looked up at her face, and waited patiently for another command.

Tara went through nine or ten other commands, each one followed perfectly by Blue, and ended the session with a quick, “Down.”

“Yeah,” Tara grinned. “You’ve got yourself a pretty special dog here.”

Rick still just stared. He probably looked like a fish with his mouth gaped open, but he just… What? There was no way this was the  _ same  _ dog. But Blue was still there, laying on his belly, ears still perked and waiting for another command.

“I, uh… How…” Rick’s attempt at a sentence died very quickly, and he went back to staring. Blue looked at him, and tilted his head, as if  _ Rick  _ was supposed to give a command this time.

“I got myself a theory,” Tara said, her eyes still on Blue. Before she explained, she quickly said, “At ease.” Immediately, Blue rose up to his feet, and ran over to where he’d dropped his squirrel, giving it a few quick nudges with his nose before turning back to the course with a wide doggy grin. From there, he wandered his way through the different obstacles, trying each one out in whatever random order suited him.

“How…”

“He's had pretty advanced training. Hell, that's gotta be one of the quickest course runs I’ve ever seen, and he only  _ just  _ ran it one time with no practice.” Tara looked down to the leash in her hand, coiling it back up properly.

“But, I…”

“I'm thinking military for sure. Police usually don't go outside shepherds or labs. Military is more open depending on what spots need to be filled.”

“But I just found…”

“There's a base near you. I'm sure you already know that. Chances are he came back, broke loose, got lost, and wandered his way to your place.”

Rick fell into silence this time, managing to keep himself focused on Tara’s words more than anything else. He watched as Blue wove his way through a line of thin poles, weaving through them easily before turning back around and doing it again.

“You said you were watching a movie when he had an episode?” Tara asked, also watching Blue.

“Uh, yeah. Saving Private Ryan.”

Tara winced beside him. “Yeah, no more war movies. Or gunshots. That's probably what set him off.” She glanced up at Rick, her head tilted to the side. “Chances are pretty high he's got PTSD. It could be why he was sent back home. Dogs can get it just like people can, but there's not exactly a dog therapist.”

“How do I help him? Make it better?”

Leaning over, Tara bumped Rick’s shoulder with her own. “You’re doing it. Keep his mind active. Spoil him rotten.” Tara mock scowled at him before shaking her head, and smiling brightly. “No more war movies.”

“Yeah,” Rick chuckled, “No more war movies."

“If you’re up for it, I can probably figure out exactly what he was trained to do.”

Rick nodded, and called for Blue. He walked over to them, picking up his squirrel along the way, and leaned his shoulder against Rick’s thigh, still panting happily. “You want to do some more tests, bud? See if we can figure out what you used to do during your military career?”

Blue bounced up and down on his paws a little.

“I think he’s game,” Rick grinned at Tara.

* * *

It started small. Tara took him and Blue to a different room, maybe a fifth the size of the training room. There were rows of lockers and random items, and it seemed much more like a storage room. There were boxes and mounds of random things, and it left Rick a little confused.

Blue started pacing in place, staring intently down the long walkway between all the random things and piles. With Tara’s permission, Rick released Blue from his leash again and let him run down the walkway.

Immediately, Blue pressed his nose against the lockers, running up and down the length of the wall, before finally sitting in front of one. It almost looked silly, what with him holding the squirrel in his mouth the entire time.

“That's a point for bomb sniffing,” Tara said, walking over to Blue and giving a short whistle. Immediately, Blue stood back up and rushed over. When Tara noticed Rick's dropped jaw, she turned slightly smug. “It's not an actual bomb. Just parts.”

Letting out the breath he was holding, Rick nodded. “Okay. So he's… Been around bombs. Good to know.” Though the thought of Blue wandering around and  _ sticking  _ his nose at bombs under the ground made Rick’s stomach churn.

Tara gave Blue a pat on the top of his head, then motioned to the rest of the path. “Search,” she commanded, and Blue immediately turned and padded down the path.  _ Now _ Rick realized why there were so many nooks and crannies.

To hide things.

This time, Blue had to walk up and down the pathway just once, before he pushed up on his hind legs, nosing at a box a foot above him.

Another whistle, and Blue darted back to Tara with another wide grin. “That's drugs. I don't see a lot of dogs that can do both,” Tara remarked, glancing back to Rick. She quirked an eyebrow and ran her hand down Blue’s back and gave him a pat.

“He's definitely not the usual breed, though…” she mused, kneeling down in front of Blue and starting to run her hands around his jaws, then his sides and legs, feeling his muscular frame. 

“I think Hershel called him a Cartahar… uh… A Cata-something.”

“Catahoula?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Catahoula. Said people use them to hunt pigs and things like that.”

Tara nodded, and continued inspecting Blue’s coat, taking care not to touch the almost healed stitches in his shoulder. “I lived in Florida for a little while as a kid. Army brat, you know? A few people my parents were friends with had one. He was a big fucker. Even bigger than Blue, here, and I expect he’ll get even bigger.”

“Another twenty pounds or so, I’ve been told,” Rick said.

“You need to make sure he’s kept occupied.” Ruffling Blue’s thick coat one last time, she turned to face Rick. “Dogs like this need to be active, or they can get destructive. I had a dog about his size that ate a couch.”

Rick snorted. “A couch, huh? Wood and all?”

“Hey!” Tara grinned, aiming a weak punch at Rick’s shoulder. “I’m serious. Yes. Wood and all. Whittled down the frame until there was nothing left but toothpicks.”

“Is that a roundabout way of telling me he and I need to come over here often?” Rick cocked his head to the side. “You’re not trying to uh… Please tell me you’re not flirting with me. I’ll bring him back regardless, but…”

Tara threw back her head and let out a booming laugh. It echoed around the small room, and Blue flinched at the loud noise, shuffling back until he was pressed against Rick’s thigh again.

“I’m sorry,” Tara giggled, her hand pressed to her mouth. “I really am, but holy shitballs, Rick! Are you serious?”   


Feeling his face flame up, Rick ducked his head, toeing at the ground with his boot. “Uh. No?”

Letting out one more little giggle, Tara was about to speak when the door to the room flew open, and a blonde woman walked in.

“I’m back from Seattle, babycakes! Let’s get naked!” She caught sight of Rick and Blue standing there, Rick with his jaw practically on the floor, and blushed redder than Rick thought humans were capable of. “Oh, shit! I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t know you’d have people around still, it’s after normal hours, and oh fuck, I’m just gonna go back into the other room, and stick my head in the microwave now, thanks, bye.”

Tara walked over, and pulled the woman closer to Rick and Blue. “Rick, Blue, this is Denise. My girlfriend, and the reason that I most definitely  _ wasn’t _ flirting with you.”

With most of the blood in his body currently residing in his face, it took a few moments for the rest of Rick’s body to react. Finally, he managed to hold out a hand towards Denise. “It's, uh… It's very nice to meet you,” he mumbled.

Seeming to recognize the tension and awkwardness that was practically radiating off him, Blue was quick to put himself in front of Rick. He stepped up to Denise, sitting right in front of her feet, and tilted his head slightly, rubber squirrel still hanging from his mouth.

Pulling her attention away from Rick, Denise gasped, her eyes widening. “And who is this cutie!” she gushed, reaching over and giving Blue a quick rub over his floppy ears. “Aren't you just a  _ doll.” _

“Uh, yes. That's Blue,” Rick stated, lowering his hand and awkwardly shoving it into his pocket instead. “Tara’s finding out a lot about him that I would have  _ never  _ guessed. He's, like…” Still slightly flustered, Rick just waved his other hand in the air.

Blue’s tail wagged from side to side, letting out little rumbles as Denise ran her hands down to rub against his neck. “He's a military vet,” Tara said, her hands on her hips.

Denise gasped, then resumed her gushing. “Are you a war dog? Did you go save people? What a good boy! Yes you are!” The high tone of her voice nearly made Rick wince, yet Blue stayed still for her rubs and pets and the baby talk flooding over him.

“I’m still having a hard time believing it, but I guess I’m going to have to get over that pretty quick,” Rick chuckled, mentally removing the last few minutes from his mind entirely. “So, how many times a week should I bring him by? I’m not really sure how he’ll react around other dogs, so it should probably be during your least busy hours.”

Tara nodded. “Denise and I have a couple dogs we can try out with him. They’re used to doing that kind of thing, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Let’s start off with twice a week. We can always up it if he’s getting into trouble.”

Bending over again, Tara patted at Blue’s head. “Don’t want you getting into trouble ‘cause you’re bored, right? Right!”

“Uh. Well, my days off sort of vary, but I’m free on Wednesday and Saturday this week. After five alright?”

Tara nodded, still patting at Blue’s head, slowly moving her hand around to scratch at his ears. “That’s fine. If I’m not here, Denise will let you in. For the first couple trips, you can just let him run around the training course we did earlier. He seemed to like that a lot.”

“There was something else, as well. When we went from the car to the vet’s office, he started acting strangely. Like he was having a panic attack maybe?” Rick rubbed at his eyes, and fingered the leather of the leash that hung loosely in his hand. “He sort of flattened himself to the ground, and almost crawled into the office. He was panting pretty hard, and shivering.”

That made Tara frown and tilt her head. Glancing back down at Blue, she hummed to herself. “Staying low to the ground is to avoid gunfire… But I'm not sure why he would do that in the middle of a city and without a trigger.” She ran her hand down his head and his back, running her fingers through his fur in search for wounds.

It was only when she ran her fingers down Blue's left side that she paused. “He's gotten shot before, looks like,” she murmured.

Blue seemed uncomfortable as soon as Tara mentioned something about him getting shot, and pulled out of her grasp. She let him go, and he pressed himself back up against Rick’s thigh.

“Could be he got hit by a bullet. Could have been the memory of the vet. But he's been on a battlefield for sure. I'm thinking patrol. They're the ones that are on the front lines most often.”

That seemed to sober up Denise immediately, her face softening with a look of sadness and pity. Blue, on the other hand, seemed to start getting uncomfortable with all the hands and shifted awkwardly on his paws. His jaws clenched down onto the squirrel, letting out a particularly loud squeak.

“So…” Rick trailed off, unsure what to say. This could change  _ everything. _ Swallowing, he knew that there was still one question that he had to ask. “Is he… dangerous? I-I have a son. He's almost ten, so he isn't little, but…”

Tara looked at Rick sadly. “I wish I could tell you something definite. My first instinct is to say no, but I can’t be completely sure. I would think, as long as you make sure your son is aware of things he should and shouldn’t do, he’ll be fine. I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer.”

“No, I understand what you’re saying. I guess I was sort of hoping bringing him here would lead to a miraculous cure, or something like that.” Rick dragged his fingers through his hair, and sighed, before brightening a bit. “Could I have my son and his mother meet us here one day? So they can see him in a safer environment? Maybe get a better sense of what kind of dog he is?”

“I’ve got no problem with that. Any day you come, they’re welcome,” Tara grinned. “Now though… I think my girl and I have an appointment we’re late for.” She winked at Rick and raised her hand for another fist bump.

Having learned his lesson the first time, Rick didn’t leave her hanging, bumping his fist against hers, and chuckling. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Leaning down, Rick clipped the leash back onto Blue’s collar, and gave his coat a ruffle. “Ready to go, Blue? I think we’ve got a date with that cute barista down at Starbucks. There’s a puppuccino with your name on it.”

Immediately, Blue jumped up to his feet and gave a small bounce. He took a few steps towards the door, probably as far as Blue had ever gotten while on a leash, since he almost always remained at Rick’s side.

“I think that's a good enough answer for me.” Rick turned back and gave his thanks, all while watching Blue bite onto his leash and was give it a tug. Rick thought about making Blue wait so he could see how far he’d go for his puppuccino, but the thought of Blue's history quickly changed his mind. 

“Okay, okay,” Rick sighed and let the dog lead him away. He didn't bother looking back to the girls, and judging by their whispers and giggles, he didn't need to. With most of his sanity intact, Rick opened the door to the car and let Blue jump inside. Turning around to the driver's seat, Rick hopped in and pulled his seatbelt on.

Flinging one last glance at the house, Rick sighed and smiled. It had been a long, long day, but it was a step in the right direction. All he could do was hope that it would be enough.  


	8. Carl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Blue's latest and greatest test: proving to Lori that he can be Carl's good boy, too.

Rick knew that Shane still didn’t really believe what he’d been told about Blue. Though to be completely honest,  _ Rick  _ barely believed, and he’d seen it with his own eyes. It had taken Rick handing his phone to Shane so he could talk to Tara himself before he finally got the answer he needed, and he grudgingly gave into Rick’s wishes. Blue was safe.

For now.

Shane started coming by again after patrols, and while they had to be careful about what movies they watched, it was enjoyable. Blue still reigned supreme over his spot on the couch, and Rick had caught Shane absentmindedly petting him from time to time. He vehemently denied doing any such thing, and Rick let it slide.

There was still one more test Blue needed to pass. Rick had barely had any time with his son since he’d adopted Blue, nearly five weeks now. The few times he’d managed to convince Lori to let Carl come to his house, Blue would have to be locked in the laundry room or put outside. It was miserable for all three of them. Blue would whine and paw at the door, and Carl would beg to be allowed outside to pet him. Rick had nearly given into temptation every time.

It was time to see his son for real, and ensure he’d be safe around Blue.

Rick and Tara had been working to pinpoint Blue's triggers, and while they’d found the obvious ones--gunfire and explosions--they still struggled with others. Blue would constantly slink low to the ground, eyes bulging and panicked whenever they would do something outside in the open. Blue couldn’t even make it to the park without his panic nearly immobilising him. It made trying to keep him exercised and entertained outside the house that much harder. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have much of a problem in Rick’s backyard, but even then, Blue tended to stick to the area around the fence, rarely venturing out to the middle of the yard.

The trips to Tara’s course were doing wonders, of course. Blue would run to Rick with his leash in his mouth, always ready, and eager to make the drive. It also didn't hurt that every trip ended with a puppuccino.

Blue seemed particularly excited today as Rick drove to Tara’s, as if he knew that today was going to be special. He hung his head out the window, sometimes ducking back in to look at Rick, then immediately sticking his head back out.

Rick was cautiously optimistic. There hadn't been any more episodes anywhere close to the severity of the first one. The closest Blue had come was a few startled barks when Rick dropped a pan, but there was almost no aftermath other than some low growls. At least his background helped to explain why Blue always seemed so quiet. What with being on the front lines, and targeting the enemy, he had to be.

The dog already knew they were within minutes of Tara’s, judging by the way he was now bouncing in his seat and letting out high pitched whines. “Calm down, it'll still be there,” Rick laughed, patting Blue on the back. What he got in return was a drawn out whine that he could have sworn was directed straight at him.

As he pulled up, Rick’s chest tightened. Lori was already here. Checking his watch, he saw that he was still a few minutes early for the arranged time. Maybe this was just her attempt to one-up him. Like always.

Stepping out of the driver's seat, he simply held the door open and let Blue jump out on his side as well. Blue’s excitement was infectious, and Rick grinned as he did a little spin and jumped up on his back legs. “Easy!” Rick laughed, and Blue immediately sat down, his tail rustling the gravel beneath him.

“Okay, now you need to be good,” Rick said, and Blue just huffed and snorted at him. “I'm serious. We're going to see my son. He's very important to me, so I want you to be good for him. Just like for me.”

He looked up to see Lori herd Carl back into the car, and then start walking towards him. Rick was pretty sure Lori didn’t trust a thing he said, so he knew Blue would have to pass  _ her _ test before she let the dog anywhere near Carl.

Quickly bending down, he whispered, “Here comes Lori. She’s the only thing stopping us from spending more time with Carl. Best behavior, Blue, got it?”

Blue huffed again, and gave Rick a sloppy lick across the cheek.

“Ugh,” Rick grumbled, a smile lurking around the edges of his mouth. “You need a breath mint.”

Blue let out a soft bark, and planted his front paws on Rick’s shoulders, giving him a much more thorough tongue bath. 

“I could swear you speak English sometimes, buddy,” Rick laughed, pushing the excited dog off of him, and standing to greet Lori.

“I have to say,” Lori mused, her mouth in a tight line. “This isn’t what I expected him to look like.”

“He looks much better than he did a few weeks ago. Finally got the rest of his stitches out, right boy?”

Blue pressed his side against Rick’s thigh and panted happily.

Standing up straighter, Rick made use of some of the training Tara had been teaching him. “Sit, Blue.”

Immediately, Blue stopped panting, sat down, and looked up to Rick, obviously waiting for another command.

“This is Lori. How about you introduce yourself to her?”

Looking away from Rick, Blue stared at Lori for several long moments, his head cocked to the side, and Rick started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. If Blue didn’t behave  _ perfectly,  _ he was never going to be able to have Carl at his place again.

Thankfully, after a lingering stare, Blue walked over to Lori and sat down in front of her, holding out his paw.

Her eyes softening just a little, Lori reached down and took hold of it, giving his paw a few quick shakes before letting go. “Nice to meet you, Blue,” Lori hummed. “You’ve got very good manners so far. I’m impressed.”

“In the week or so we’ve been coming here, he’s improved a lot. Tara is pretty positive he’s an ex-military dog. So, he’s been very well trained.”

“Did I hear someone say my name?”

Rick smiled at Tara as she walked out of the front door. “I was just telling Lori about Blue’s background.”

“Oh yeah,” Tara grinned, bending down and scratching roughly behind both of Blue’s ears. “This badass boy is a smarty pants, aren’t you? Yes you are!”

Letting out a blissful whine, Blue rolled over onto his back, and Tara didn’t waste any time going in for the belly rub Blue was obviously craving.

“Come  _ on,  _ Mom! He’s getting a belly rub!” Carl whined from the car, practically halfway out the window. “He can’t be that dangerous! I should at least be allowed to get out of the stupid car!”

Lori rolled her eyes, and gave Rick a look that, if he interpreted it correctly, meant, ‘He’s  _ your _ son, don’t look at me.’

“Fine,” Lori said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Don’t get all hyper though. Treat these dogs like the police dogs your father used to work with in Atlanta.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “Oh my god!” she yelled, balling up her fist to punch Rick in the shoulder. “You’re a cop? Why the  _ hell _ didn’t you tell me?”

“Uh. I didn’t think it was relevant?”

“Of course it’s relevant, Rick! I told you that Blue need stimulation so he doesn’t get bored, right?” When Rick nodded, Tara barrelled forward, and put him into a loose headlock. “Police work would be perfect for him! Drug busts and catching perps and all that stuff!”

Rick winced, squirming his way free from her grasp with a bit more difficulty than he cared to admit. “It's not that simple, I can't just let him ride shotgun,” Rick sighed loudly, only to see Tara place her hands on her hips. He knew what that meant.

“Did you  _ ask?” _

Clearing his throat, Rick paused, then shook his head. “B-but he needs tra-"

“What do you think a war dog does? Sit and stare at flowers all day? He's had more training than two dogs put together!”

Rick could hear Lori’s soft chuckles, and he knew she was taking great pleasure in watching this. Trying to cover up his lack of thought, because why did he not think of this before, he started stammering. Tara quickly cut through it.

“If you don't call your boss, I will. He's  _ perfect.” _

Flushing with embarrassment, Rick ducked his head and ran his hand up and down the back of his neck. “I see that,” he mumbled, only to finally look back down at Blue. To his surprise, he had gone right past Lori and walked straight to where Carl stood a few feet away.

While Blue seemed to be completely at ease, Carl looked moments away from exploding with excitement. Just like he’d done with Lori, Blue sat down and extended his paw, but instead of receiving a shake, he was nearly knocked over when Carl wrapped his skinny arms around Blue’s neck.

Rick felt his throat tighten up, as Tara had made it  _ perfectly  _ clear they should never touch Blue’s throat, but after a tense moment, he could see Blue giving long licks to Carl's cheek, his wagging tail stirring up a cloud of dust from the gravel road.

“He's  _ huge!”  _ Carl said with glee, giving Blue a squeeze before finally releasing him to look over the dog properly. “Oh my God he's awesome!”

“You haven't even seen him work, yet!” Tara added, her grin widening. “He's got one of the fastest times on my track!”

“Can we go see, Dad?” Carl asked, nearly vibrating with excitement, his fingers buried in the thick fur around Blue’s neck.

The dog looked to be just as excited as Carl, judging by the way he kept bouncing from one front paw to the other. 

“If your mother says it’s okay. And Tara,” Rick said.

“Fine by me,” Tara beamed. “Blue’s awesome to watch.”

Lori thought about it for a minute, then nodded her head. “I suppose that’s what we came here for.”

The five of them made their way into the house, and back to the outbuildings where the training courses were, headed directly for Blue’s favorite one.

Just a few minutes later, after Blue had beaten his own personal best time, and Rick was watching his son and his dog wrestle playfully on the turf covered floor, Lori walked up to him.

“Okay, I give up.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Lori sighed, and pouted, something that would have gotten her anything she wanted from Rick just a couple short years ago. “Carl can start spending his weeks at your house again. But for the first little while, please don’t let him be with the dog unsupervised. I can see now why you think he’d never do anything like that, but I also spoke to Shane about what happened during that movie.”

“We’ve been working on that, you know,” Rick explained. “Getting him desensitized to gunfire. I play a short clip on the computer, and if he doesn’t react, he gets a treat. He’s doing pretty well so far.” Rick decided it was better to not mention Blue's other odd behaviors. Blue wasn't perfectly recovered, but chances were that he never would be. Not completely. They just needed to be patient and keep working.

Lori just nodded, and walked over to Carl, who was knelt in the center of the course throwing a ball for Blue. “Hey. I told your dad that it was alright for you to start going over there again.” She held up her hand when Carl yelled excitedly. “Just a minute. You’re okay to be over there, but the rule is: No time with the dog when your dad isn’t around. Just to be extra safe.”

Blue huffed and walked over to them, laying his head down on Carl’s shoulder, and giving him a lick.

Carl laughed, and pushed at Blue’s head. “Knock it off, Blue! I got enough spit of my own!”

“Carl. Are we clear?” Lori insisted.

“Yeah, mom, I understand,” Carl giggled. Blue was still trying to get a lick in on his face, but he kept licking over Carl’s wiggling fingers instead.

“Okay. If you want to stay over toni-”

“Yeah!” Carl yelled, not even waiting for Lori to finish her sentence. “Can I stay over, Dad? And for the weekend? It’s Friday!”

“Fine with me. Lori?”

She grumbled a bit, but eventually Lori gave her permission, and Carl let out a whoop. Blue looked at him strangely for a moment, his head tilted to the side, then let out a long, low howl. 

Laughing to himself, Rick walked over to them and patted Carl on his head. “I'll show you where everything is when we get home. He has a lot of toys you both can play with,” Rick chuckled, glancing at Blue.

Blue had laid down beside Carl, dropping his head onto the boy's lap and letting out little rumbles of satisfaction. Every time Rick and Blue came to this place, Blue always left exhausted but happy. Perhaps now with Carl in the house, they could run each other ragged at home as well.

With the celebration over, Rick agreed to let Carl continue playing. He’d found a frisbee and now was throwing it across the course and random obstacles, trying his best to make Blue work. It left Rick and Lori sitting on a bench, watching from a little ways away.

Lori let out a sigh as she leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “God, that brings back memories,” she hummed to herself, her eyes on the dog running and jumping.

Rick glanced over at her and allowed himself to shift an inch closer. “Rango?” He asked, even though he already knew the answer.

There was a reason Lori didn't want pets in the house. She didn't want Carl to suffer the loss of an animal. Already, Rick could see the familiar mask Lori started putting up, the one she used when painful memories came to the surface. She was always trying to act like nothing bothered her, and insisted on keeping her pain deep inside.

Sometimes Rick forgot how much Lori did to try to protect Carl from the pain the world could bring. She was like his shield.

“He was such a good puppy. Not  _ military _ good, but still,” she chuckled but Rick could hear the lingering sadness, an odd tone to hear from her.

Carefully reaching out, Rick patted her softly on the shoulder. “I know. He was a good pup,” Rick agreed, keeping his voice low even though Carl didn't seem to be paying any attention to them. Probably for the best.

Resting his hand on her shoulder a little longer as silent support, he eventually pulled back. “Blue is special. He's just… Blue.”

Lori nodded, and Rick couldn't tell if he was imagining it or not, but she had the beginnings of a smile on her face. “He's a good dog,” she accepted, watching as Carl tried to trick Blue by not actually throwing the frisbee, only for Blue to bowl him over seconds later.

His chest puffing with pride, Rick couldn't contain his grin. “I know. He's the best.”

* * *

“But, Dad!”

Struggling to keep a straight face, Rick shook his head. “No dogs in the bed with you, Carl, you know the rule.”

Carl frowned and gave Rick a petulant look. “Mom would never know. You could let him be in here with me if you wanted.”

Settling down on the edge of Carl’s bed, Rick looked at Blue where he was curled up on the rug at his feet. “Your mom would find out. She always finds out.”

Flopping back into the bed, Carl let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. But I want a story to make up for it!”

“I can do that,” Rick said, making his way over to the bookshelf. This was one of the first things he’d bought for Carl’s room after he’d closed on the house. And then he spent three months going to flea markets, and swap meets, and haunting Ebay like a madman, trying to find all the books he remembered loving as a child to fill it up. “What do you want tonight? Boxcar Children? Where the Red Fern Grows? Hmmm, maybe not that one. Too depressing. How about James and the Giant Peach?”

“No, we’ve read all those ones a million times. Tell me the story about your grandpa.”

Rick raised an eyebrow, and chuckled. “Like you haven’t heard that story a million times, as well?”

“C’mon, Dad. It’s my favorite.”

Rick groaned as Carl brought out the big guns. The sad puppy dog face, as Lori called it. “That’s just not fair. You know I can’t say no when you make that face.”

Carl grinned, and made himself more comfortable in the bed. “I know. That’s why I use it.”

Rolling his eyes, Rick sat back down on the bed, and tugged at the comforter, making sure it was tucked in tight before he started his story.

“Alright. Well, you never got to meet him because he died when I was just about the same age as you, but my grandfather’s name was Carlyle. You’re named after him. Lori put up a bit of a fuss, but she got to choose your middle name with no input from me, so I think we’re even, what about you?”

Carl giggled when Rick worked his fingers underneath the blankets, and wiggled them against his sides. “Yeah!” he yelled, squirming away from Rick’s tickling fingers. “You’re even, you’re even!”

Rick smirked, and went on with the story, pushing back the wild tangle of hair from Carl’s forehead.

“My Grandpa Carl and his family lived way up in north Georgia, almost North Carolina, and they were farmers. Grandpa Carl used to spend all the time he could running through the forest. Like Billy in Where the Red Fern Grows. He was happiest when he could be out in the woods.

“One day when he was about thirteen, he’d just managed to catch a rabbit for them to eat for supper, when he started feeling dizzy. He was so dizzy, that when he went to grab the rabbit out of the snare, he tripped, and fell right over. The rabbit got loose, and ran off back into the brush.”

“Why was he dizzy?” Carl asked, even though he knew the story just as well as Rick did.

“He didn’t know why he was dizzy. He’d eaten a big breakfast that morning. He wasn’t sick, as far as he knew. Your Great-Grandpa Carl just laid there on the ground, in the middle of the forest, and he said his world was spinning faster than he could keep track of.

“You know what happened then?” Rick grinned, as he looked down at Carl.

“Yeah! He fell asleep! When he woke up it was all dark, and he could hear his Mom and Dad and his brothers calling his name from far away.”

Rick nodded. “That’s right. When he didn’t come home at dusk like he usually did, his family got worried, and went out to look for him.”

“But when they found him, they didn’t know it was him, right?”

“Right. When he tried to get up, he had four legs instead of two, and he had a big, bushy tail coming out of his hind end! Your Great-Grandpa Carl wasn’t your Great-Grandpa Carl anymore. What was he?”

Carl threw his hands up in the air, and howled, “He was a doggy!”

Blue perked his head up, and aimed one of those intense stares at Rick. Figuring that Carl had just caught Blue’s attention by howling, Rick continued on with his story.

“He was a great big doggy, yeah. Grandpa said he looked like a cross between a German Shepherd, and a Labrador, with a little bit of wolf spread in there for good measure. I bet you can imagine what his family had to say when they saw him.”

“Get out of here, dog! Go back home to your family!”

Rick chuckled. “Something just like that. But, even though Grandpa Carl was scared, and he didn’t know what was happening to him, he concentrated real hard, and poof! He was Grandpa Carl again.”

“If Grandpa Carl could turn into a doggy, does that mean I’ll be able to do that, too?” Carl asked, his eyes starting to look a bit heavy.

“I don’t know, buddy,” Rick answered, trailing his fingers lightly across Carl’s forehead. “It never happened to me, and it never happened to my father, but I remember seeing Gramps do it once or twice when I was very young. So, I know it’s true.”

Rick leaned down, and gave Carl a kiss on the forehead. “Maybe it’ll happen for you. If it does, or it doesn’t, I’ll make sure you’re always taken care of. G’night, buddy. I love you.”

Blue whined loudly, and poked his nose against Rick’s leg.

“Night, Dad. Night, Blue,” Carl breathed, his eyes slipping closed.

Rick stood up, and walked to the door, shutting it quietly behind him after making sure Blue had followed. He made his way into the living room, and sprawled out on the couch, smiling to himself. Today had been a good day.

Blue was still whining, and he walked over and tucked his nose under Rick loose fingers.

“What’s wrong, Blue? Didn’t like my story?”

Letting out some grumbles, sounding almost like he was frustrated, Blue immediately jumped up and onto Rick’s chest. Of course this was almost 100 pounds of dog that was now standing and pinning him to the couch.

“Fine!” Rick wheezed, his lungs being compressed a bit more than he was comfortable with. “Next time I’ll tell him a story about Rin Tin Tin! Or Lassie! No more Grandpa Carl stories, just get off me, you weigh like a thousand pounds!’

Blue huffed, and jumped off the couch, moving to go sit in the corner. He looked over his shoulder at Rick, and Rick had to rub his eyes for a minute, because he could swear Blue looked  _ disappointed _ in him.

“If I’d had a face that potent when I was a teenager, I’d have gotten laid a lot more,” Rick laughed, pushing himself off the couch, and padding barefoot down the hall to his room. 

Blue followed along behind him, and if Rick had ever doubted that dogs could pout, all it took was one look at the dog behind him to put all those doubts to rest.

“What am I going to do with you, huh?” Rick mused, sitting on the end of his bed, and running his hands through his hair. 

Blue let out a little snort, and curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed, tucking his nose underneath his tail.

“I guess we can talk about it more in the morning. Maybe you’ll be a better conversationalist then. Night, Blue,” Rick muttered, as he slid his body in between cool sheets.

A return huff came from the foot of the bed, and Rick couldn’t help but smile as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna get interesting. We will be meeting two characters, one we've met before and one that's brand new. And I've got my fingers crossed for a little freaky-deaky.


	9. Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's tire has given out on him. Looks like it's time for a trip to the Modern Muffler.

“I'm sorry, it just blew on me. No, I don't have the spare. That  _ was  _ the spare.”

Rick paced in front of his car, glancing back at Blue who was still in the front seat with his head out the window, watching some birds intently. At least someone was entertained.

He kicked a rock out from beneath his boot and watched it disappear into an alley. Now he had to cancel his plans to go out and see Tara and let Blue take a stab at some new training she was curious about.

No, his car wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. The entire tire had blown, and just about sent Blue into a panic. While he seemed to have calmed down from that incident, Rick wasn't wanting to take chances. They would go back home instead, and have a quiet night with a new South Park episode.

“Yeah, there's a shop nearby,” he answered, staring down at the scuffed tips of his boots, inspecting them lazily. “We can try again on Friday. Sound like a plan?”

After getting the confirmation he needed from Tara, Rick hung up the phone with a long sigh. Now he wasn't going to be able to let Blue work off some tension. Carl had just gone to Lori’s that morning after a full week, and it had seemed to upset Blue. Maybe he thought that Carl wasn't coming back.

Pocketing the phone, Rick walked to the car and popped open the passenger's door. “Looks like we're taking a walk,” Rick said, watching Blue tentatively getting out of the car. It was still somewhat of an open area, even with them parked on the side of the street. Either that, or it was because they were a few blocks away from where the dog fighting ring had taken place.

“It's okay,” Rick soothed, reaching out and scratching behind his ear. “Just a little walk. We're going to the shop. Back where we met, remember?”

Blue whined as he looked around the car, ears plastered against his head, but he didn’t lower himself to the ground like he would have a few weeks ago. He and Tara had been working with him steadily, trying to make him more comfortable outside. Blue was obviously still scared, and he left barely a millimeter of space between his shoulder and Rick’s leg, but he wasn’t scrambling for cover anymore. Baby steps, Tara kept repeating. Baby steps.

Walking down the road, making sure to keep Blue on the side farthest away from traffic, Rick estimated that they had a little over two miles to walk before they hit Dale’s shop. Maybe he should jog a little bit, since Blue wasn’t getting his regular workout at Tara’s.

“Feel like a jog, Blue?”

Letting out a short yip, Blue picked up his pace. It was eerie sometimes, the way Blue responded to him. Rick had been lying on the couch a couple of days ago, trying to take a nap, and said something about being cold. Next thing he knew, Blue was dragging the spare blanket off his bed into the living room. Rick had just stared at him, sleep all but banished from his mind. He’d reached out his hand, whispered his thanks, and Blue had huffed, then curled up in his dog bed. Like nothing had happened.

Rick had probably stared between Blue, the blanket, and his bedroom door for a good half an hour. Because he  _ knew _ he’d closed his bedroom door. Knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Assuming he believed that Blue understood what he’d said, that still meant the dog had to open up Rick’s door, drag the blanket off the bed, and  _ then _ drag it out to the living room. The whole thing had started to make Rick paranoid.

It also left him wondering what else Blue was capable of. The list was continuing to grow to an abnormal amount. At first it was just watching TV. Then came the reveal of his war background. Then there was Blue’s uncanny reactions to Rick’s words, like he understood all of them. He’d even caught Blue staring at the books that lined Carl's bookcase, as if he was trying to  _ read the spines. _

Now there was the blanket fetching, opening doors… Then the reaction to Grandpa Carl and his story…

A thought whispering in the back of his mind almost made him trip over his own feet. No. No, that was ridiculous.

There was a reason his grandfather had been so extraordinary. Shifters has almost died out by this time, to the point that many people didn't believe they’d  _ ever  _ existed. Plus, it wasn't like Rick had ever found traces of a strange person in his house.

No, Blue was just Blue. An amazing dog that just seemed a bit too good to be real.

Shaking his head, he sped up just a bit, Blue immediately adjusting his own pace. He was still playing around with the idea of taking Blue out on patrol with he and Shane. He had proposed the idea to Michonne, but she was hesitant. Shane had already given her the negative sides of Blue, after all. But maybe if Rick brought Blue in and showed her what he could do… even better, have  _ Tara  _ show her what Blue can do.

He was still deep in thought when he caught sight of the sign hanging on the rustic garage building. The Modern Muffler. Well, he had already told himself he would come here to get his car worked on… Too bad he hadn’t  _ driven _ the car here.

Rick heard Merle before he saw him. The other man was leaning against the concrete wall off to the side, away from the garage, and in the shade. “Well, I’ll be damned. Officer Friendly done got hisself a little pet. Ain’t that the same scraggly lookin’ thing I was tryin’ to keep outta this place? Why ya gotta bring him back here?”

“One and the same,” Rick said, tightening his hold on Blue’s leash just in case he recognized the man who’d tried to brain him with a wrench. 

Merle pushed off the wall with one foot, but stayed in the shade, pacing back and forth and eying Blue dubiously. “Looks like he filled out some. Betcha been feedin’ him all sort of good stuff, huh, Friendly? Steak and lobster and shit. Fancy.”

Rick sighed, and started walking toward the office. He really didn’t feel like dealing with Merle right now. He had enough on his plate already. “Is Dale in the office? I need to arrange a tow.”

“Yeah, he’s in there,” Merle replied, taking a drag on a cigarette Rick hadn’t noticed until just then. “Too good to let ol’ Merle help you, huh?”

Down at his side, Blue had gone rigid. Rick paused, and looked down at him. “What’s wrong, Blue? Getting to be a little bit much out here? Let’s go into the office, c’mon.” Rick lightly pulled on the leash, but Blue dug his paws into the ground. He seemed to be staring at Merle. 

“I think he recognizes you, Merle,” Rick chuckled. “I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you. Might decide to get him some revenge for all the shit you threw at him.”

Merle snorted loudly, then turned his head and spat onto the ground. “Not the first time a pretty bitch g'nna try ta’ take me down,” he laughed, lowering his cigarette and pressing the glowing tip against the concrete.

The old convict stepped into the sunlight, already walking towards Rick and Blue. When Rick opened his mouth to give another warning, he was distracted by Blue’s low whine.

The dog pulled against the leash, trying to take a step closer to Merle. Expecting hostility from Blue, Rick looked down at him only to find not a hint of aggression. Blue’s ears were raised, his head up, tail straight out behind him, fur flat… There was even a tiny wag in his tail.

Looking back at Merle, who was still closing the distance, he realized that Merle was wearing some sort of a leather jacket. Out in the sun, it had to be hot. Tightening his hand on the leash just in case he needed to pull Blue back, Rick furrowed his brow. 

“A bit hot to be wearing that,” he commented, and it made Merle pause.

Looking down at himself, Merle tugged on the collar of the vest and grinned back up at Rick. “Was my baby brother's. Gave it to’m before I went off to war. Lil fucker always loved it.”

Another tug on the leash, this time stronger and the whine was more desperate. Now this was  _ extremely  _ odd. Blue never tugged on the leash this hard, but he was straining to get closer to Merle.

Merle was within arms reach of them now, and Rick had to strain to keep Blue from launching himself at the other man. 

“Don’t look like he’s mad at me. Looks like he wants a pat from an ol’ redneck,” Merle laughed, looking at Rick with a smirk. “You sure he’s lookin’ to take a bite?”

Taking another step, Merle went down to his knees in front of Blue, and Rick couldn’t hold him back anymore. Blue shot forward, and launched himself at Merle, excited whines coming from his mouth. He actually knocked Merle over when he jumped up and started licking at the other man’s face.

“Jesus, mutt, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Merle grumbled, shoving himself to his feet, and wiping off his face. “Y’got drool all over me.”

Rick was stunned. Yes, Blue got on well with most people he met, but he’d never, not  _ once, _ greeted someone like this. Not even Carl had gotten such a warm welcome.

“You sure you’d never seen this dog before? That day you and I saw him?” Rick asked.

“Nope. Woulda recognized the breed. My Pa always had a thing for Catahoulas. Even thought about getting one once, but he spent the money on booze instead.” 

The entire time Merle was talking, Blue was dancing around his feet, looking up at the older man like he was the second coming. Rick shook his head. “You mind keeping an eye on him while I go talk to Dale?”

Merle grimaced as he stared down at Blue, who was trying his best to jump up and press his paws against Merle’s chest. Merle reached out and pushed at Blue's muzzle, managing to push him off. “Dammit, do it quick,” Merle grunted, watching the dog continue to circle him.

Rick gave an awkward chuckle, even though a rock had formed in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to leave Blue alone with anyone, let alone  _ Merle, _ not when the man was showing irritation towards Blue. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally trigger Blue’s instincts.

Shoving down his fears, he walked to the office, taking one last glance behind him. Blue had sat down, and was panting happily. It looked like he’d calmed down.

Dale was in his office, of course, going through paperwork before looking up from his desk. “Rick!” he greeted with a grin, setting down his pen. “What can I do for you?”

Letting out a sigh, Rick took a few steps closer and leaned against the desk. “My car blew a tire a mile or two away. I could use a tow and a replacement, and maybe another tire for a spare.”

“Can do. Just give me a sec, I'll get my truck, a-"

There was a high pitched yelp outside then, one that made Rick’s blood run cold.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” Rick could hear Merle shout, his voice loud and angry. “The fuck’s your problem?!”

The yelp turned into a series of loud cries, and Rick spun around and slammed his shoulder against the door, rushing out into the garage again. He almost stumbled to a stop at the scene he came across.

Merle was standing off to the side, his face red and eyes blazing, his hand white knuckled around a wrench. At the far side of the garage, Rick’s gaze led there by a few spots of blood on the concrete, was Blue. He was hiding beneath a truck, rubbing his front paw against his muzzle. Blood was leaking from his muzzle in small droplets, and he was still crying loudly, a sound that Rick had  _ never  _ heard Blue make.

“What the  _ fuck, _ Merle? If you hit my dog with that goddamn wrench, I’m going to shove it up your ass!” Rick yelled, running over to the truck to make sure Blue was alright.

He crouched down, and called out to the dog. “Come on out, buddy, it’s alright,” he said, looking back and glaring at Merle. “If he comes near you again, I’ll beat the hell out of him, then call Shane and have him arrested.”

Blue didn’t look convinced, but he crept forward, and shoved his muzzle into Rick’s outstretched palm anyway. Tilting the dog’s head to the side, Rick saw a cut running down the side of his nose, and blood dripping down from his nostrils. Pulling his hands away from Blue, Rick curled them into fists. After all the shit this dog had gone through, now he had to deal with an asshole like Merle, too? That shit was not going to fly with him.

Standing up, Rick crossed the distance between he and Merle in what felt like a microsecond. His hands fisted in the older man’s shirt, and he only barely held himself back from plowing his fist into Merle’s smirking face.

“I’m going to take Blue to the vet, and I’ll be sending you the bill, asshole. Touch him again, and I’ll arrest you for cruelty to animals.” Rick smirked, and glanced down at the ground. “And for the pot that just fell out of your pocket.”

At that point, Merle turned a little pale, looking at the small cellophane wrapped package that had fallen from his pocket, then narrowed his eyes. “That bitch tried takin' a bite outta my vest! Or me! Goddamn attack dog or some shit!” he countered, but his hands remained at his sides. Probably for the best, because Rick was just  _ itching  _ to find a reason to wrestle him to the ground.

“He smelled your drugs, Dixon. That dog's got more going on in his head than your whole family combined."

That seemed to have stepped over the thin line, and Merle’s face immediately flushed red again. “You take that back, ya’ dirty pig!” Merle snarled, his hand tightening on the wrench he still held. “I don't give a shit ‘bout what you say about me ‘r Pa, but you don't say  _ shit _ ‘bout-"

Something tugged at Rick’s jeans, and a pathetic whine sounded from behind him. Forcing his gaze away from Merle, he saw Blue with his teeth gripped around the belt loops of his jeans. And it looked like he was trying to pull Rick away, of all things.

Reluctantly releasing Merle, Rick stepped back. “Don’t ever touch my fucking dog again, Dixon,” Rick spat, letting Blue tug him away.

Blue kept on tugging until they were in the shade and Rick sat down, the adrenalin that had flooded his veins leaving quickly. He draped his arm around Blue’s back, and pulled the dog closer. “God, I wish you could talk, Blue,” Rick sighed, his head thumping back on the concrete wall. “Tell me what the hell you were just doing, and why you had to do it to Merle  _ fucking _ Dixon, of all people.”

Blue whined, and pressed his still bleeding nose into Rick’s neck.

“We’ll get you fixed up, bud. I don’t think actually going to the vet is necessary.” Rick’s fingers probed the fur around Blue’s nose, and along his jaw. “I don’t think he got you that badly. Nothing broken, at least.”

While Rick was probing along his nose, Blue winced and tried pulling back. Thinking he may have found another wound, Rick pulled Blue closer instead.

When Blue sneezed all across his shirt, spraying blood  _ everywhere,  _ Rick realized that hadn’t been the best idea. Wrinkling his nose, Rick looked down at himself and what use to be a white shirt then sighed. “I guess I deserved that,” he muttered, glancing back up at Blue.

Dale finally stepped over to him, after Rick heard a hushed conversation between him and Merle, one that ended with Merle stomping off. “Rick, I… Uh, I apologize. I'm going to head out and grab your car. No charge. If you'd like, I have a first aid kit in the office.”

Glancing down at his blood spattered shirt, Rick nodded. “Thanks. I don’t think he’s bleeding anymore, but it wouldn’t hurt to go check.”

Rick headed into the office, Blue trotting along behind him. He found the kit, and pressed one of the gauze pads to the shallow cut next to Blue’s nose. As he’d suspected, it wasn’t bleeding any longer. It really wasn’t much of a cut either. Merle had barely grazed him. 

He scratched behind Blue’s ear when he was done, and made himself comfortable in the air conditioned office. No sense waiting outside in the heat, and possibly running into Merle again.

The longer he sat there, absently stroking Blue’s soft fur, the worse he felt about what he’d said to Merle earlier. Sure, he was an asshole, and from stories that were still being told down at the station, his dad had been an even  _ bigger _ asshole, but Merle had worked hard to turn his life around. Nowadays, he thought Merle mostly behaved the way he did because he enjoyed seeing how far he could push people.

Rick sighed, and Blue lifted his head to look up at him. “I’m going to have to apologize to Merle, bud. Doesn’t that just suck."

* * *

The drive back home was quiet. Blue sat in the passenger's seat, silent and cautious. Rick had made sure to bring some gauze in case his cut started bleeding again. Just a precaution.

He’d tried to apologize to Merle, and been unsuccessful at best, with the older man just sending him a glare and shrugging him off.

Rick sighed and rubbed his face with one hand, trying to ease his exhaustion. Hell, they didn't even do anything today. It was a day off. But now all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a ridiculously unhealthy snack and watch the cooking channel.

When he pulled into his driveway, and looked next door, his heart lunged up into his throat.

Shit. Negan. He was back.

_ Shit, _ he did not want to deal with talking to him right now, not in his current messy state.

Negan and his wife, Lucille, had been on a three month vacation, celebrating Lucille’s cancer-free state. They had gone to Europe, almost like a second honeymoon. Rick watched over the house, as if there would be  _ any  _ crime in their neighborhood, but mostly watered their flowers.

But even after three months, seeing that man just… Shit. He was feeling every day of those two and a half years of unintended abstinence.

Clearing his throat, he pulled into his space and tried his best to not look over at Negan standing on the sidewalk in front of his house. The bastard didn't deserve to look that good while holding a puffy white Pomeranian.

A damn  _ Pomeranian.  _

The moment Rick stepped out of the car and walked around to the other side to let Blue out, he heard that telltale whistle.

“Hot  _ damn, _ Rick, that had to be a helluva session! Did you at least use the safe word?”

Rick flushed, and clipped Blue’s leash to his collar.

Negan’s laugh practically boomed across the block, and Rick finally looked over his shoulder. Negan was grinning widely, Coco Chanel resting in his arms. God, he hoped that name was Lucille’s idea. He wouldn't be able to handle Negan being the creator of that…

“Oh, come on, Rick. It's been  _ months _ ! I got you a little something from London. Wanna check it out?”

Bending to pat Blue on the head, Rick looked up at Negan, and quirked an eyebrow. “I doubt it. It’ll probably scar me for life.”

“Come on! Where’s your sense of adventure? Lucille wanted to try it out, but I convinced her to leave it alone. It’s still wrapped up in its original packaging. All for you.”

“I guess it’d be pretty rude to turn down a gift, huh Blue?” Rick murmured to the dog still in the car. He got a lick on the cheek in answer. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Walking over to Negan, his hand tight on Blue’s leash, though he wasn’t acting anything like he had been at the garage, Rick held out his hand. “Welcome home, Negan. I hope you and Lucille had a good time.”

“Now, don’t tease me, Rick,” Negan grinned, leaning over and settling Coco down on the other side of the backyard fence, before grabbing hold of Rick’s outstretched hand, and pulling him in close. “I missed you. My favorite neighbor.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “You didn’t finish your sentence. Your favorite neighbor  _ to annoy.” _

Squirming just a bit in Negan’s tight hold, Rick held back a curse. God, he’d forgotten how good the jerk smelled in the time that he’d been gone. Like leather, and smoke, and yeah, Rick needed to get laid  _ really _ bad.

Blue seemed to pick up on Rick’s discomfort, and whined, leaning his head onto Rick’s thigh. 

“And who is this?” Negan’s loud voice boomed, once he let go of Rick. “When did you get a fuckin’ dog?”

All too aware of his flushed face, Rick coughed awkwardly and stared down at Blue. “This is Blue. I got him about a week or two after you left.”

Now that Rick had been released from what could have been a ‘dangerous’ hold in Blue's eyes, the dog had calmed down and was sitting in front of Negan. Just like always when he met someone new, he lifted his paw and held it out for Negan.

“Well ain't that the cutest thing,” Negan rumbled, leaning down and grasping Blue's paw, giving it a proper shake. When he got a closer look at Blue, Negan frowned. “Poor guy looks like he got ripped to shreds once.”

With a sigh, Rick nodded. “We busted a dog fighting ring after you and Lucille left. He was one of the dogs we managed to save. Not long after that, though, we found out something special about little old Blue.”

Negan stood up straight again, a hand on his hip and his grin wide. “Well? Don't cock tease me, Rick!”

Flushing again, Rick dropped his gaze to Blue. “He used to be a war dog. Military. We think he was pretty highly skilled, too. He can sniff out bombs, drugs. You name it, he'll find it.

“Well I'll be damned,” Negan whistled, crossing his arms over his chest as he inspected Blue over. Then, he slipped down to a knee and gave Blue a few scratches behind the ear. “Thank you for your service, Blue!”

Blue let out a little yip, and licked Negan’s cheek.

“He’s pretty smart, man. The other day, I was laying on the couch taking a nap, and I was talking to myself a little bit. Said I was cold. Next thing I knew, Blue was dragging a blanket from my bedroom over to me.”

Negan narrowed his eyes, and looked more intently at Blue. “Did he now…” Negan said, kneeling down in front of Blue again. “Why don’t you show off for me, boy? Go open that gate, and let Coco out. You two should meet. Since you’re both  _ dogs _ and all.”

Rick tilted his head to the side, and was about to protest when Negan stood up again, and slung an arm around Rick’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it, Ricky. He’s your dog, so he’s gotta be well behaved, right?”

It left Rick silent as Blue trotted away from them, out of his own yard and over to Negan’s. It seemed like he was inspecting the gate to Negan’s back yard for just a few seconds, head tilted, before he started nosing the latch up and open.

Coco, who was known to think of herself as a ferocious beast, barked rapidly on the other side, jumping up and pushing the now unlocked gate open. Though Rick felt his gut twist with the realization that Coco was barely more than a mouthful to Blue, the larger dog instead just sat. It left the white puff of a dog to start clamouring all over him, yapping and trying to pounce onto his rapidly moving tail.

Negan just laughed and squeezed Rick’s shoulder. “See? He knows better,” he grinned, meeting Rick’s eyes and then glancing back to the dogs. “Hell, if I didn't know any better, I’d say he's a little more than  _ just  _ a smart dog.”

Rick snorted, and shrugged off Negan’s arm. “Yeah. He’s a  _ very _ smart dog.” Patting his leg, he called for Blue, and the dog quickly walked back to Rick’s side.

“Looks like he’s pretty attached to you, Rick. Little bit more attached than a normal dog would be, don’t you think?”

Blue leaned his body against Rick’s leg, and stared up at his face. Rick had the feeling that Blue was trying to tell him something again, but he shook it off. “I’d like to end this shitty day, Negan, so how about we cut this short?”

Snorting, Negan gave Rick a firm pat on the shoulder and finally let go. “Damn, such a sourpuss! Didn't think you'd be that pissed that we came back!” Negan teased, his grin still wide. Leaning over, Negan gave Blue a good ear rubbing and then picked up Coco, who was still trying her best to bring Blue to his knees.

“Here, lemme get you your present first. Then you can spend the rest of the day cheering yourself up.” Rick swallowed as that glint appeared in Negan’s eyes again, but could not protest as Negan had already walked back to his house.

While Rick seriously debated slipping inside, and skipping whatever “gift” Negan had for him, Blue sat there, watching Negan disappear into his house and then come back with a wrapped box. The wrapping paper, of course, was the English flag in all its glory, with so many stripes of color that it made Rick nauseated just looking at it.

One arm curled around Coco, Negan handed the present over with the other. “You go have fun now,” Negan grinned, and threw him a wink, something that made Rick’s insides burn in a way too pleasant to be natural.

With a final wave, Negan stepped back into his house and shut the door behind him.

Shaking his head, Rick headed over to his own house. After getting Blue settled, and making sure he had fresh water, Rick sat on the couch with Negan’s present.

He shook it--you could never be to sure with Negan--and when nothing exploded, he opened it up.

“Well. I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Rick sighed. 

He stared at the shiny package, and couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Only Negan, the man he’d simultaneously had a crush on and hated for several years, would give him a British flag themed dildo.

His curiosity too high to allow him to put the dildo back in the box and hide it away forever, he turned the toy over in his hand and skimmed across the details. Wow. This wasn't even one of those cheap gag gifts.

This was, indeed, a  _ real  _ dildo. And for just a moment, he pondered if that meant that Negan had some sort of knowledge of Rick’s...crush.

Ah shit, no, get that image out of your head, Rick. That's just filthy.

His face now bright red, visions of Negan  _ using _ that toy floating through his mind, he cleared his throat. Scanning the living room, as if there would actually be someone here other than Blue to judge him, he looked back down.

Well… it would be rude to not  _ use  _ a present. But then he wondered if he could ever look Negan in the eye again.

Probably not. Then again, maybe he would stop getting partially hard every time he so much as stood within a few feet of the man. Rick still was unsure if it was the crushing side or the hating side. If he would rather imagine himself being fucked or him fucking Negan into submission.

Okay, now he  _ really  _ needed to decide what he was going to do, because now his jeans were much too tight and his palms were getting sweaty. Damn Negan.

With one more glance across the room, realizing that Blue was in the laundry room getting a drink, he threw caution to the wind. He was a grown man. He could do what he wanted.

And if that meant fucking himself with the British flag, then so be it.

Rick wasn't really one for masturbation. He found himself too busy most of the time, and to be honest, his sex drive had gone downhill ever since Carl had been born. It was probably his body realizing that he wasn't going to be getting anything from Lori anytime soon.

He wasn't one for porn, either. It was always awkward for him. He would start thinking of how they caught that camera angle. How long did it take to get that particular shot. Do they have erections lasting longer than four hours? Was being a male pornstar dangerous?

Rick shook those thoughts away as soon as he was in his bedroom, having to go get scissors to cut the dildo out of its wrapping. It was indeed brand new, smooth to the touch, and was a bit bigger than what he’d used when he was younger. But hell. It was a present. He was sort of obligated to use it, right?

Plopping onto his bed, he fumbled in his nightstand for his handy bottle of lube. He wasn't sure if he would actually use the dildo, or just jerk off, but better to be prepared. It had been a while, after all.

Squeezing out a small amount of lube into his palm, he rubbed his hands together, getting them nice and slick. He lay back against his pillows, and closed his eyes. The first image that came to mind was something that had happened last summer. Lucille had been doing well at the time, and she’d mentioned to Negan that she’d always wanted flower beds. So, Negan had gone out, bought every single flower known to man, and worked on planting them. By the end of the day, he’d been covered in dirt from head to toe, and Lucille had thought it was a great idea to turn the garden hose on him. 

And shit, Rick really agreed. It was an  _ amazing _ idea. He’d known for a while that Negan was hot, but Negan soaking wet, with water dripping from his hair, in a see through t-shirt was a whole nother level of sexy.

His mind fixated on the small sliver of tanned skin at Negan’s waist, and Rick reached down, bypassing his zipper entirely, and shoved his entire hand into his jeans.

Letting out a hiss at the first contact, cool hands meeting hot flesh, Rick groaned. Firming up his grip, he worked his slick hand up and down as far as it would go. It didn’t really go very far. “Shit,” he mumbled, as he tried to wipe the lube off his other hand so it wouldn’t just slide off the button of his jeans. “I really should have thought this through more.”

After several tries, he finally managed to dig his fingernails into the button, and yank it out of it’s hole. He’d just worked his extremely hard length out of the hole in his boxers when he heard the telltale click of toenails on the hardwood floor.

Having to put the mouthwatering image of Negan to the back of his mind, Rick cracked open his eyes and looked out the open doorway. Maybe he should have shut that. But he wasn't going to leap at the chance get out of this position on the bed yet.

Blue passed by the open doorway, holding his squeaky squirrel in his mouth. As the nails clicked away, Rick let out a sigh of relief and rested his head back down into the pillows.

Where was he…

He clenched his hand around his cock and closed his eyes again, wincing at his own grasp. He started to once again slide his hand up and down his slick length, able to feel the shivers of pleasure now that he was no longer contained in his jeans.

The image of a dripping wet Negan flooded into his mind again, the smears of dirt on his muscular arms, accenting his rugged appearance. His beard had been darker back then, near jet black with bits of peppering here and there. Man, could Negan grow a ferocious beard. It made Rick want to run his fingers through it, then up into his hair and pull.

His breath now in a light pant, Rick held onto that image, and expanded on it.

Maybe Negan was an animal in bed. His huge hands grabbing at Rick’s shoulders, his side, pinning Rick down. His normally booming voice in a low rumble as he whispered into Rick’s ear, dirty,  _ filthy  _ things only Negan would know to say.

Sweat glistening off of his muscular body, his flexing abs and rigid shoulders, and his hair slicked back, with just a few stray bangs plastered to his forehead. Shit, even better, in that leather jacket of his. God, that jacket fit him so perfectly…

Then came the clicking of nails. Again.

Groaning in exasperation, since he had just started to speed up his strokes, Rick cracked open one eye just long enough to see Blue pass by the open door again, still holding that stupid squirrel. Just go away, Blue… Just for a few minutes.

Closing his eyes, Rick gritted his teeth, and held back a frustrated little grunt. All he needed was two or three more minutes. Maybe four. In his head, Negan growled at him, and accused him of daydreaming. To cure him of that, Negan pushed him up against the wall, and rubbed the  _ massive _ cock Rick was  _ positive _ he possessed up against the small of his back.

Rutting up into his hand, Rick cursed. It had been so long since he’d done this, maybe four minutes was being generous. He tapped the fingers of his free hand on the sensitive spot just underneath the head of his cock, and couldn’t hold back a loud groan. 

Rick was maybe thirty seconds away from coming all over his chest, when he froze, and his eyes snapped open. Almost not wanting to look down, he forced himself, and then winced. Blue had his nose pressed against Rick’s inner thigh, and he was sniffing so hard Rick could feel a breeze on some very sensitive areas.

Scrambling farther back on the bed, Rick pushed Blue’s muzzle away from his still way too interested cock. Grabbing a pillow and draping it over his groin, Rick buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, Blue, you have shitty timing.” Peeking out from between his fingers, he watched Blue, who seemed intrigued. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his head tilted to the side, and those intense blue eyes never left Rick’s.

After an awkward few seconds of staring, Blue stood up and practically bounded across the bed, and started  _ licking  _ at Rick’s hands. The ones he just realized were still mostly covered in lube, and that he’d been using to jerk off only seconds ago.

“No, bad!” Rick yelped, using his arm to nudge away Blue's massive head. “Not for you! Not for eating!”

Blue whined loudly in protest, placing his paws on Rick’s thighs  _ dangerously  _ close to the aching cock still covered by the pillow.

“Out!” Rick commanded, pointing towards the bedroom door. “Go watch TV! Go play!” Go do anything that wasn't in this damn room while his cock was begging to be touched again. It certainly was giving him conflicting signals with those intense eyes still not leaving his face.

Practically baying with complaints, Blue finally jumped down off of the bed, grabbed his squeaky squirrel, and sulked out of the room. When he got past the threshold, Blue then turned around and plopped down onto his belly, his eyes focused on Rick. And since that wasn’t enough, he started chewing on his squirrel, filling the room with piercing squeaks.

Great. Now his dog was going to  _ watch  _ him jerk off. And Rick hadn’t even had the chance to use his new toy!

Still holding the pillow to his crotch, Rick moved off of the bed and closed the door, probably harder than he needed to. Blue’s rebuttal was to continue chewing on the toy, making it squeak even louder.

Walking back over to the bed, Rick tossed the pillow onto the floor. That was definitely going to need a wash before it went back on the bed. Sitting down, Rick looked down at his still hard cock. Leaning back on one arm, he wrapped his fingers around himself again, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure.

He was getting back into the groove of things--Negan was just about to give him a nice little bite on the nape of his neck--when there was a sudden explosion of squeaking right outside the door. 

Falling back on the bed, Rick let out a frustrated groan, and yelled, “Blue! Knock it off!”

Silence. “Thank god,” he murmured, taking himself in hand once again. 

Seconds after that, there was the distinct sound of claws digging into wood. “You have to be kidding me.”

Glancing at the door, Rick nearly laughed. One of Blue’s front paws was all the way under the door frame, and judging by the noise, the other was digging at the edge. “It’s a solid wood door, buddy, you’ll never claw your way through.”

Stretching out again, Rick ignored the noises as best he could, and re-immersed himself in his fantasy. He was in the middle of working himself open for the dildo when he felt something cold and wet on the tip of his cock.

He opened his eyes, and just barely managed to stop Blue from giving his still  _ way too interested  _ cock a lick.

“Blue, no! Bad!” Rick shouted, soon curling himself into the protective circle of pillows and blankets in a desperate attempt to once again cover himself. His entire face rushed red, and those damn blue eyes weren't helping. It was like Blue  _ knew  _ he was embarrassing him! On purpose!

“How the fuck did you g-” Rick nearly slammed his head into the headboard with realization. Of course. Blue could open doors.  _ Somehow. _ With his pants now just past his knees, Rick released his cock and pointed to the door. “Get out! No puppuccinos for a  _ week!” _

Blue’s jaw hung open, his eyes stretched so wide that Rick could see the whites. It would be hilarious at just about any other time. Crying out his displeasure, Blue once again dropped off of the bed, and started backing his way out of the room.

Backing, because Blue refused to look away, and he continued to make those horrendously pitiful crying and howling noises the entire way out the door. “Don't you argue with me, or I'll make it two!”

A long howl, completely soaked in pathetic misery, and Blue finally left his room and continued into the living room to sulk like a spoiled child.

“My dog is a whiny toddler,” Rick said, shaking his head. “Better than being a traumatized ex-military, and ex-fighting dog, I suppose.”

Scooting off the bed, Rick pulled his pants up over his dick, which still hadn’t gotten the “lets stop being hard” memo. “My life is fucking weird,” he grumbled, listening to Blue, who was still carrying on. Louder than before, if that was possible.

When Rick finally made it out to the suspiciously silent living room, he found Blue laying on the couch. He was looking at Rick with a smug expression.

“What did you do?”

Blue huffed, and let out a series of whines that Rick  _ swore _ sounded like laughter.

He was halfway to the kitchen when he found out why. “Dammit, Blue! These were clean socks! And I  _ just  _ mopped!”


	10. Patrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to show just what Blue is capable of: it's time to go on patrol.

It took three weeks of negotiations to get this  _ one  _ chance. Tara calling nearly every single day to the station might have done more harm than good, as Michonne was not one to appreciate being pestered. It took taking Michonne down to Tara’s place, and three hours of Blue constantly working and showing off everything he could do to get her to reconsider.

And even after that, she was still hesitant. Even though Blue was practically a gift.

The problem was, they couldn’t find Blue's records, thus they weren’t able to prove that he was a war dog without a shadow of a doubt. Because of that, Blue  _ should _ have been sent to training for what could be months, even if they already knew he would pass with flying colors.

What finally swayed her thoughts was Blue doing what Tara had secretly been training him to do: salute. If a dog could be trained to do something like that in a few days, then certainly Blue could retain whatever teachings he’d had.

Michonne was only allowing Rick one chance to show her that Blue could be controlled and maintained. This was not “bring your pet to work day.” This was serious police work, where one wrong growl or a tooth shown to the wrong person would send Blue back home.

Tara was kind enough to lend Rick a bullet proof jacket for Blue, if only to enforce his legitimacy. Add on a little name tag and  _ boom, _ police dog.

Shane would be overseeing Blue for the shift, and Rick knew that Shane would not hide anything from their sheriff. It was intimidating, having Shane’s constant calculating gaze on Blue, and Rick feared his partner would try his best to trigger him.

So far though, the day had started out without a hitch. Blue sat in the back seat either staring out the window or windshield. He even seemed to be focused, and Rick wondered if they could add some sort of patrolling to Blue's growing list of skills.

“He's not a shepherd,” Shane grunted in the driver's seat, staring forward. “There's a reason there's only a few breeds they let in to do police work.”

“He’s the smartest dog I’ve ever seen, who cares if he’s not a shepherd?” Rick shrugged. “If he was good enough to be a military dog, I think he can handle being a police dog.” Turning around, Rick grinned at Blue. “Right, buddy?”

Blue let out a quiet bark, and wagged his tail, before poking his head through the plexiglas opening, and resting his muzzle on Rick’s shoulder.

Shane rolled his eyes, and pulled off the road into the parking lot across from Carol’s shop. “We’ll just see how well he behaves when he sees someone he knows. Will he behave like a police dog, or will he behave like someone’s pet? I’ve got a hundred bucks on pet.” Shane grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Abe seems to think he’s some sort of savant dog, but I’m not buying it.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Rick scoffed. “Should have let me in on that action. Maybe I’d finally get back that fifty bucks you owe me.”

Shane got out of the car, and pointed a finger at Rick. “That bet was never settled. I never saw a dick, did you?  _ No!” _

“That chick was totally a guy, man, you need to get over it. Just because you never actually  _ saw _ the dick, doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.”

“Whatever. Get your damn dog, and let’s go.”

Opening the rear door, Rick clipped on Blue’s leash, and knelt down in front of him. “This is it, bud. Time to prove that you have what it takes.” He rubbed briskly across Blue’s head, and whispered, “I know you can do it. I’ve got faith in you.”

“Are you just gonna sweet talk him all day or are we gonna work?” Shane called loudly, already halfway across the parking lot. “I need to get one of Carol’s cinnamon rolls before they're all gone or I’m gonna be pissed.”

Rick rolled his eyes then gave Blue one more rub. “Now, listen to the commands, and don't do anything unless I tell you to. Can we shake on that?”

Dropping open his mouth and letting his tongue hang out happily, Blue lifted his paw and put it into Rick’s waiting hand.

“Good boy,” Rick grinned and stood back up. Just as a precaution, he wound the leash a few times over his hand to shorten it. Already, Blue stood right against his thigh, looking up expectantly at him. Glancing over at Shane, who was now waiting at the doorway with a scowl, Rick crossed the lot with Blue at his side.

The second they were inside, Rick tensed. He really had no idea what would actually happen. He saw Sophia sitting at a table, doodling on some paper. She perked her head up and grinned, only for her mouth to drop open.

_ “Scrappy!” _

Nearly knocking her chair over in her haste, she rushed over to Rick and Blue, only to be stopped by Rick’s hand.

“Sweetheart, I know you want to pet him,” Rick started, trying to ignore how his heart was pounding. He willed for Sophia to understand. “But he's working. When he has his vest on, he's not a pet. He's an officer, like me.”

Shane scoffed loudly, but Rick ignored him the best that he could. Flicking his gaze down to Blue, he was partially relieved to see him still standing beside him, ears perked and watching Sophia. The dog made no move to approach her, even though Rick was sure Blue was tempted.

Sophia furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes in confusion. “But he's not…”

“Maybe not before,” Rick said softly, “but he is now. See his vest? He’s a working dog, so you can’t treat him like he’s a pet.”

Sophia looked like she was ready to cry, and Rick almost buckled. Thankfully, the store wasn’t busy, so Carol was able to come out from behind the counter, and comfort her daughter. “Why do you look like you’re about to cry, munchkin?”

“Look, Mommy! It’s Scrappy!”

Carol’s eyes widened at the sight of Blue, who was still on his best behavior. “Wow. He looks like a brand new dog! And he’s a police dog now? When did that happen?”

Stomping her foot, Sophia yelled, “None of that matters, Mommy, Rick won’t let me pet Scrappy! Tell him to stop being a jerk!”

“Sophia Anne!” Carol scolded, “You know better than to talk about Rick like that! And we’ve had a talk about how to treat service dogs, and working dogs. You don’t bother them! it’s just like walking up to me when I’m busy with customers, and trying to talk to me about something else. It’s distracting.” Carol put her hands on her hips, and shook her head. “I think you need to go upstairs. After you apologize to Rick.”

Carol nudged Sophia’s back when the look on the little girl’s face only got more petulant. “Now, young lady.”

“Sorry,” Sophia grudgingly muttered before turning around and stomping up the stairs.

Letting out the breath he had been holding, Rick stood up straight. That was one crisis that he hoped would not be repeated, but he had a feeling that Sophia might still attempt to gain ‘Scrappy’s’ affection. “Thank you,” Rick sighed,  sending a smile Carol’s direction.

She looked weary, and at first just shrugged, then smiled back. “Maybe bring him around after his shift is over. So then she knows he isn't completely a police dog now.” Judging by her intent look at Blue, Rick suspected it wasn't only for Sophia’s sake.

Nodding, Rick glanced back at Shane who was munching on his cinnamon roll. “Are you ready?” he asked, smiling even more at Shane’s slightly pissy expression. It wasn't hard to see that Shane was hellbent on testing every limit he could with Blue.

Stuffing another piece of the roll into his mouth, he waved back to Carol’s assistant Amy and said a muffled goodbye to her through the pastry filling his mouth, something that was much less attractive than Shane imagined.

Tightening his hand on the leash, Rick turned to the door and pushed it open. Giving a final wave back to Carol, they stepped outside and let the door close behind them.

Shane was muttering under his breath, narrowed eyes staring down at Blue who was still behaving perfectly. “He's doing it to spite me,” he complained, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking faster to get to the car before Rick.

Rick chose to laugh it off, opening the door for Blue to jump in first, then sitting himself in the passenger's seat.

“Alright, Shane, what's your next test?”

“Time to see how he behaves around strangers. People that want to pet him. Who don’t give a shit about him being a police dog.”

Rick frowned. “Where exactly are we going?”

Shane grinned, and shook his head. “You’ll see, asshole. You’ll see.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Rick groaned. “You’re evil,” he said, looking around at the swarm of kids that were in the park. “I thought you didn’t trust Blue around kids! You told me I was a dumbass for having him around Carl!”

Shane shrugged, and had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself. “He’s good with kids, okay? I admit it. He’d never hurt one. The question at hand, though, is whether or not he’s okay with a bunch of unknown kids trying to pet him.”

Grimacing, Rick opened the door and clipped the leash back onto Blue's vest. “I swear, you owe him a week of puppuchinos when he passes with flying colors.” That seemed to grab Blue's attention, judging by his bright eyes and him immediately sitting down in front of Rick.

“Not now, later,” Rick chuckled, then gave a soft tug on the leash. “Let's go take a walk around, check the perimeter.”

“Oh my god, Rick, he doesn't understand what that means,” Shane groaned loudly, shutting the car door behind him. “All he got out of that was blah blah, walk, blah blah blah.”

Biting back a retort, Rick turned back to Shane and walked beside him. He still kept Blue on a short leash, though that might have been for the dog's own safety, as he could feel at least a dozen pairs of eyes on them. He tightened his hold on the leash.

“Do I let them, do I tell them no?” Rick muttered to Shane, knowing that it was much different telling one child not to pet the dog, rather than an entire mob of children. Perhaps if they started telling them now… But he didn't want the kids thinking that Blue was scary and that's why they shouldn't pet him.

A little girl, maybe seven or eight years old, walked up to them. “Mister Sheriff man,” she said, her missing front teeth causing her to have a lisp, “Can I pet your pretty puppy?”

Rick smiled, and knelt down in front of her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you can’t.” Pointing to the vest that Blue was wearing, he explained. “You see this vest?” At her nod, Rick continued. “Whenever he’s wearing this, it means he’s at work, and he needs to pay attention to things that are going on around him. If he was allowed to get pets all the time, maybe he wouldn’t notice if a mean man came over here, and tried to take someone’s purse, or wallet.”

Blue looked up at him, indignant, as if he was saying that there was no way he’d let a purse snatcher get away, pets or not.

The little girl looked disappointed, but she nodded her head. Skipping back to her group of friends, she loudly explained that Blue was a police dog, and he was a very important doggo, and he didn’t have time to stop for pets, because he had bad guys to catch. 

Rick couldn’t help but grin at her when she stopped a couple of other kids from coming over by putting a hand on one hip and shaking her finger at them. She sort of reminded him of a young Lori.

Nudging Shane, who was sulking over how well behaved Blue was being, Rick said, “We can probably just do our regular patrol from here. The exercise will do us good.”

Shane scoffed. “I got plenty of exercise last night, thank you very much. I went out with this chick, used to be a gymnast. She was  _ super _ bendy. I got all kinds of creative.”

“I really don’t want to know, man. You ever hear the term overshare?”

Shane rolled his eyes extra hard, reaching out and patting Rick’s shoulder. “At least I'm getting some. Getting a  _ ton _ , actually.” Looking down at Blue, he furrowed his brow in thought.

“Chicks love a guy with a big dog. Would you mind if I…?” Shane reached across Rick’s body, obviously reaching for the leash.

“You are not using my dog to pick up women,” Rick grumbled, stretching his arm away from Shane’s extended hand. Stepping to the sidewalk, Rick glanced down to Blue who was still right beside him, tail faintly wagging at the prospect of walking again. “C’mon, buddy. Let's go,” he said, ignoring Shane’s string of complaints. 

* * *

Patrol was boring. Weekday patrols usually were, since civilians were still working. It picked up around noon, and Rick even agreed to go to the Mediterranean diner, if just to soften Shane up that little bit more. As Shane got their order, Rick let Blue off the leash so he could get a much needed break. They would work out their scheduling and bathroom stops as they went along.

After a quick lunch and getting Blue some food and water of his own--Rick grabbed a can of food from a local gas station--they continued their patrol.

Thankfully, their path did not lead them to the Modern Muffler. Rick didn't want to tell Shane about the incident with Merle. That would only lead to more doubts for him to tell Michonne about. Plus, Shane definitely wouldn't believe him if he said Blue did nothing wrong.

Rick didn't see what happened, after all. He just had a hard time thinking Blue would try biting Merle. It had to be the weed in his pocket.

Shaking himself, Rick glanced around them. There were numerous sets of eyes on them, and while Rick and Shane patrolling this area was not new, Blue patrolling it with them was. They were stopped from time to time, people wanting to pet Blue, but Rick would always politely decline. The entire time, Blue was on his best behavior, waiting patiently beside him to continue walking.

“Well?” Rick grinned, turning his head to look at his disgruntled partner.

“Do I really have to say it?”

“Yeah,” Rick nodded. “I’m going to have to insist.”

“Fine! He’s an awesome police dog! I was fuckin’ wrong!”

His grin got so wide, Rick was genuinely afraid his face was going to crack. “You hear that, Blue? Shane actually admitted he was wrong! That happens about as often as you turning your nose up at a puppuccino.” Rick scratched behind Blue’s ears as the dog panted happily. “So, never! We broke his streak!”

Blue licked at Rick’s wrist, then trotted over to Shane. Leaning on the other man’s leg, Blue looked up, and Rick could’ve sworn he winked.

“Dude. Did your dog just  _ wink _ at me? Is that his way of asking me out? Not that I’m  _ totally _ against the idea of dating a dude, but a different species? Not my thing."

Rick nearly fell down on the sidewalk when Blue gave Shane a disgusted look and quickly moved back to Rick’s side. “I don’t think he’s into you, either,” Rick wheezed, holding his ribs.

“Oh, screw you both,” Shane muttered, flipping up his middle finger.

Rick was still letting out intermittent chuckles a few minutes later, when Blue’s leash went taut. Looking back, he saw Blue sitting on his haunches, and staring down the mouth of an alley. He gave the leash a little tug. “C’mon, Blue. I bet Carol has a treat for you down at her shop.”

Blue whined, and refused to be moved.

“I'm gonna start deducting points from your report card,” Shane snickered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stared down at Blue. The dog whined again, shifting his paws, then stood up. 

When Rick took a step to continue walking, the leash jerked tight again as Blue sat once more, after taking a single step towards the alley. His ears were almost straight up and his gaze strictly down the alley.

“Okay, what's going on,” Shane asked, his face falling. “Drugs? Find a stash?”

Blue whined even louder this time, and pulled hard against the leash.

Finally giving in, Rick slacked his hold and gave Blue more lead. Immediately, Blue stood back up and pressed his nose to the ground, pulling Rick into the alley. Looking back over his shoulder, Rick just shrugged at the confused Shane that still stood on the sidewalk.

“He smells something interesting,” Rick commented, glancing back to Blue who was only pulling him deeper. It wasn't until they were halfway through the alley that Blue raised his head and sat again.

“Please don't tell me you just smelled food,” Rick sighed as he followed Blue's gaze to the dumpster.

“Ah, Rick?”

“Gimme a second,” Rick sighed, disappointment flooding him. They were so close, to let something as small as rotten food ruin their perfect day… “Blue,” he said, and pulled against the leash. “Come.”

Blue grunted, and did not move. He did not obey the command.

Rick felt his stomach twist onto itself. No, something was wrong. Taking a hesitant step closer, Rick pressed a hand to the wall and lowered himself to the ground to look under the dumpster. Just trash.

Swallowing, he stood back up, then pressed himself against the wall to stare at the sliver of space between the dumpster and the brick.

“Oh shit.”

“Rick!” Shane called again.

“Uh… Shane?” Rick began, swallowing to try and relieve his dry throat. “So, uh… You know that whole thing about drug sniffing?”

“Yeah?”

“That's not the only thing he sniffs out.”

Rick nearly jumped at the steps that were now right beside him, and he shifted to let Shane have a look. He could feel the color draining from his face, and it soon drained from Shane’s as well.

“Rick, do you know where we're at?”

“Uh…” To be truthful, Rick hadn't been paying that much attention in the past three blocks. Furrowing his brow, he was met with Shane’s wide brown eyes.

“This is the bank.”

“And Blue…”

Shane nodded. “I, uh… I think we're gonna need back-up. And S.W.A.T. And the bomb squad.  _ Now.” _


	11. Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it took was a single accident for the entire world around Rick to unravel.

“I'm never making a bet with Abe again.”

Rick chuckled softly in the driver's seat of their patrol car, leaning back comfortably as they cruised the outskirts of town. Shane was sulking in the passenger's seat, and had been doing so for weeks whenever Rick would tease him. This time it was Blue doing the teasing.

Right before their shift started, Blue had jumped onto Shane’s lap and sat, tongue lolling out of his mouth and grinning. Shane had accused Rick of telling the dog to fuck with him, but Rick only shrugged. Blue did what Blue wanted when they weren't on patrol.

Rick’s coworkers pretty much let Blue have the run of the station, as well. After he’d discovered the bomb on the bank’s back wall, he’d become somewhat of a celebrity.

From what the bomb squad told them, the bomb had been sitting there for quite some time. While that meant it could have been a dud, it could also have made it quite unstable. It would have taken very little to set it off if it was still active. Comparing the bomb to pieces left over from the robbery many months ago, and others like it in Atlanta, it was clear that it was made by the same person.

Either way, Blue had stopped a potential second attack on the bank, or a rogue bomb going off on its own. The fact that he’d had found it without even really looking had even Michonne about to burst with pride. Yeah, they had something special in Blue.

Blue became a permanent part of the squad after that, with a badge and everything. He worked every shift with Rick, even when Rick wasn’t patrolling and only catching up on paperwork at the station. They’ve been working together for nearly three months now. Blue raised everybody’s morale, from cops to victims of crimes--like a lost little girl who clung to Blue for hours while they located her mother.

But, every day wasn't finding bombs and busting gangs. Actually, the town was pretty much back to normal. A boring normal, but normal nonetheless. Blue still was excited for every patrol, though, and it helped keep Rick and Shane from becoming too weary of the everyday cycles.

“Why did you have to make  _ another  _ bet?” Rick snickered, glancing at his partner.

“He's gotta have a fucking weakness!” Shane groaned, throwing his hands up in the air.

“He's a war dog, Shane. He's got more will and determination than you and I combined.”

Shane just rolled his eyes. “Puppuccinos are his favorite thing ever. I thought that was his damn weakness, okay?”

“All I had to do was tell him to stay. Once. He didn't even whine.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Shane grumbled, scowling at the rear view mirror where Blue sat contently on the other side of the plexiglass that divided the car. They had yet to get a proper K9 SUV, and Michonne had already told Rick to not bother getting his hopes up. Even if they had a dog as special as Blue, that didn't mean shit when it came to getting more funding from the city.

Rick snapped to attention when the radio in the car crackled to life.

_ All available units, high speed pursuit in progress. Lincoln county units request local assistance. Highway 18 south GTA, ADW, 2-17 2-4-3. Proceed with extreme caution. _

Pushing the gas pedal to the floor, Rick flipped on the siren. “Here we go.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Rick and Shane were crouched on the side of the road, waiting. Blue was still inside the car. He’d given up on pawing at the door, and now was just whining and staring out the window.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and Rick took a deep breath. 

What happened next seemed like it was straight out of an action movie. The car the suspects were driving hit the spike strip he and Shane had laid in the road, and fishtailed for a moment before going sideways. It then proceeded to flip over six or seven times before coming to a stop in the adjacent field, landing on its roof, tires still spinning.

Rick quickly rushed around the car and opened the back door, clipping the leash to Blue’s collar, and giving him the command to heel. Blue plastered himself to Rick’s leg as he approached the crashed car, Shane directly behind them, his shotgun raised and ready.

The passenger door of the wrecked car opened slowly, and a heavyset man stepped out, gun in hand. As soon as Rick spotted it, his blood turned cold.

“Drop the gun!” he commanded, distantly aware of the growling Blue gave off and his fur bristling. “Drop it now!”

But the man did not listen. Seconds after Rick spoke, the man lifted the gun and began to shoot. Falling back on his training, Rick fired back, hearing the piercing gunshots behind him and the bullets sinking into both the car and the cruisers.

A sudden pain struck Rick straight in the sternum, and he felt the air forced out of his lungs. His mind went blank and all he could think of was that he was about to die.

The force of the bullet sent him to the ground, struggling in vain to pull breath into his lungs. He couldn't hear past the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears, but as his hand searched his chest, he finally realized there was no blood. He’d taken the hit on his bulletproof vest.

Gasping for air, he felt a cold nose pressing into his cheek, and realized that Blue was almost on top of him, trying to shield his body from the ongoing gunfire. The only thought on his mind, however, was taking down the criminal as soon as possible. If they didn’t have a clear shot, then maybe it was time for something else.

Gritting his teeth together, Rick forced his slightly leaden arms to unclip Blue’s leash and he choked out a single word: “Bite.”

In an instant, Blue had sprinted out into the tall grass, and Rick could hear someone scream. Still struggling for air, Rick knew better than to sit up, making himself an easy target. He just laid there, staring at the sky, praying that they didn’t shoot Blue. The criminals or the cops.

“Rick!”

Sucking in a breath, Rick rolled over, and wheezed, “I’m alright!”

Shane ran up to him, shotgun still in hand. “I saw you get hit, man. Scared the shit out of me.”

“You and me both,” Rick panted, still patting at the spot he’d felt the bullet hit. “Blue! Come!”

Turning around, Rick's heart sank as he saw Blue still hunkered over a fallen body, bristling and growling. Taking in a breath, Rick nearly choked on the gunpowder. They’d never had to actually shoot their guns around Blue before. 

“Hey, buddy, it's okay. It's over, we're fine,”Rick murmured slowly, starting to cross the grass towards the mangled car. Blue’s fur was still slightly bristled, and as he turned his head towards Rick, his eyes seemed blank, staring straight through him.

A rock landed in his gut as Rick knelt down, holstering his colt. “It's just me, Blue. Blue?”

Blue's lips peeled back over his sharp teeth, his eyes landing squarely on Rick, and he snarled. Bunching up his powerful muscles, Blue lunged.

_ “Rick!” _

_ Bang! _

Rick yelled as the pain ripped through his back and into his chest and immediately dropped to the ground, his vision whiting out at the edges. Blue disappeared over his shoulder, and after two more shots, it became deadly quiet. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, but his chest… His chest was on fire.

Shane loomed over him after a few moments. Rick tried to speak again, but couldn’t manage a single word. He felt Shane’s hands pressing down on his chest and wanted to shout at him. Didn’t Shane know that it was hurting him? 

Rick tried to move his face away, searching for Blue, but he couldn't move. He couldn’t breathe, and everything was pressing in on him, and didn’t anyone understand? He couldn’t  _ breathe! _

Looking up at Shane’s stricken face, Rick’s last thoughts before the darkness that was lurking around the corners of his vision took over completely, were of his boy, and his dog.

* * *

It didn't take much to clue Negan into the fact that something was wrong.

The first clue was the familiar cruiser that had just about driven into his front yard, sending Negan rushing back to avoid being hit. The second was the driver's side door being flung open before the car had even stopped completely. The next were the piercing barks and snarls that poured out of the vehicle, and the final piece of the puzzle was when Shane ran around to the back door and yanked it open, only to start dragging a snarling, panicked Blue out by his leash. The damn thing was so taut that Negan feared it would snap.

“What the shit?” Negan muttered, frozen in place as he took in the struggle.

Blood coated Shane’s hands, and there were large spots of it on his uniform. Blue had blood matted around his jaws, the same jaws that were now trapped inside a thick muzzle, and spattered on his coat. The muzzle did nothing to silence Blue’s snarls or his attempts to bite at the leash, and he dug his paws into the sidewalk in any attempt to flee.

Shane’s face was a deep red, his teeth clenched together as he used every ounce of his strength to drag the large dog into Rick’s yard.

“The hell is going on?” Negan finally called, rushing over to the struggling officer.

Shane snapped his eyes to Negan, his teeth gritted together with strain. “Rick,” he forced out, then yanked hard on the leash when Blue was distracted by Negan’s presence. It made the dog almost fall onto his face, and it looked to Negan like he was losing the strength to keep fighting against the leash. “Shot.”

“What the fuck happened?” Negan pressed, stepping closer even as Blue still struggled madly.

“Hospital. Grady’s. Gotta get this fucker outta the way!” Shane yanked again, and finally got up the steps of the house. Wrapping the leash around his arm, he used his free hand to grab at the keys in his pocket, ones Negan recognized as Rick’s, and frantically unlocked the door.

With one final heave, Shane pulled the dog into the house, pushed him away from the door, and slammed it shut. Even from his position a few feet away, Negan could still hear barking and snarling, and claws scratching against the door.

Shane didn't even pause to look back, instead running back to the cruiser and tearing out onto the road again. He was already out of sight by the time Negan could collect his thoughts.

“Well, shit,” Negan grimaced, shoving his hands in his pockets and debating with himself. If what he was thinking about Rick’s dog was true, he should probably go over there and try to calm him the fuck down. But what if he was wrong? 

Ah, fuck it. Negan was pretty sure he wasn’t wrong.

Walking across the lawn that separated their houses, Negan made his way onto the porch, and dug a hand in his pocket for his key ring. Rick had given him a key a couple months after he’d moved in. Just in case, he’d said.

He could still hear Blue scratching and digging at the door as he put the key in the lock. “Back the fuck off the door, dude. I’m gonna come in and talk to you for a minute, but only if you back off.”

The scratching stopped, and Negan grinned. He’d known it almost from the first moment he’d seen that damn dog. He was too smart. Too focused. Too fucking  _ human. _

He opened the door, and slipped inside quickly, in case Blue had any ideas about making a break for it. After the door was shut, he turned around, and looked down at Blue.

The dog was sitting in the middle of the entryway, small tremors working their way through his body, and it was plain to see it was taking a lot for him to remain still. Now up close, Negan could see the blood all over Blue’s face and his chest, but he didn't see a wound. Maybe it was Rick's?

Crouching down, Negan grinned at him. “I’m pretty sure you’re not just a really smart dog, are you?”

Blue huffed, and let out a long whine. His body was still twitching, his eyes unable to stay focused on Negan, instead constantly sweeping back and forth, like he was searching for an enemy.

“Well, c’mon. Turn back.”

Another long whine, and Blue lowered his head, still visibly trembling. He shuffled back slowly, and Negan frowned as the dog pressed himself against the wall.

“What’s the matter? Don’t know how to turn back?”

Blue let out a little grunt.

Squinting his eyes down at the dog, Negan forced a chuckle. “What the hell, man? How do you not know? What, you just turned into a fuckin’ dog before your balls dropped, and then just  _ stayed _ that way?”

When all Blue did was lower his muzzle even closer to the floor, Negan sighed. “Fuck. God only knows how long you’ve been like that. You can’t stay shifted for that long, dude. You gotta be human sometimes. The longer you’re like that, the harder it is to shift back.”

Running his fingers through his hair, Negan thought. His dad had been a shifter. Negan had been damn excited to be one himself, especially with how much his father had prepared him. But he got the short end of the stick and was just Negan. Kinda sucked. But it still gave him much more insight than  _ Rick,  _ that's for sure.

Reaching out slowly, Negan winced as Blue let out a snarl before pushing himself harder into the wall. “Hey, it's okay,” he said, raising his hands in the air, “Let me get that thing off your face. That's all I'm gonna do.”

After a few tense seconds, Negan reached out again and unhooked the strap holding the muzzle to Blue's face, and then removed the collar. “Okay, let's try somethin’,” Negan said, then knelt down in front of Blue so their eyes could meet properly.

“My dad told me how he got from one form to the other. Practically drilled it into my head. Now,” Negan clapped his hands together, wincing when it made Blue jump, “I want you to close your eyes and concentrate. Start with your paws. Think about how fucking  _ awesome  _ having thumbs is. Think about your bones changing.”

At first, Blue just cocked his head to the side, unamused, as if Negan was just teasing. But he finally closed his eyes and laid himself down into the ground.

“Now your legs. Your feet. You're gonna be on two legs, now.”

A little shudder ran through Blue's body, and his face twisted with concentration, but outwardly, nothing changed. Chances are that it would not be a slow process, but instead his body would make the sudden shift once pushed hard enough. It was better that way, to prevent that ugly half shifting. That created some damn monstrosities, according to Negan’s father.

“Think about Rick,” Negan continued, adding in that personal connection. “He needs you, but not like this. Can't bring a dog into a hospital. Need you human so you can see him.” A low growl rumbled in Blue’s chest, and long shiver ran through his body.

Scanning over Blue's body, Negan could have sworn that he heard something snap, like a bone. “Keep goin’. Your jaws. Your teeth. Your fur’s gonna go away. Keep thinking. Think about what you were before all this shifting stuff started. You were a kid. You had a name. You had parents. You ha-”

A horrible tearing sound cut Negan’s words short, and he stared at the twitching shape before him. Well, maybe he was wrong about the quickness of the shift, but it didn't seem like Blue was stuck yet. Negan simply watched and waited, listening to the popping of bones and joints and watching as fur slowly receded to reveal skin. 

And after what felt like an eternity, Negan found himself staring down at a man. A naked, huge, muscular man. He let out a low whistle. “Damn. Wish I'd been around to take you in.”

The man's eyes snapped open, the same striking color he’d had as Blue, and he panted heavily. His sides were heaving with his heavy breaths, sweat beaded on his skin, and it was obvious he was exhausted, but as soon as his eyes found Negan, he began to struggle.

“Grr-rr-” the man tried to speak, only coming out with low growls as he struggled to his hands and feet. Almost immediately, he tipped over, struggling to regain balance in a body that was not meant to walk on four legs.

“Shit, man, give it a fucking break,” Negan said, still watching the man struggle, his smirk growing wider. “You went from four to two.”

“Rrr-rra!” Another loud growl that turned into a beastly snarl, and Negan knew that this might not be as simple as he’d wished. Judging by the size of the man, he was  _ definitely  _ not a teenager. He was easily in his late twenties, or early thirties.

Chuckling under his breath, Negan stood up, and reached out a hand. “I’m gonna help you up. It’s gonna take you a minute to get used to walking around on two legs instead of four.”

Hooking his arm underneath the man’s shoulder, Negan hauled him to his feet. He had to practically drag the man over to the couch, his legs sort of flopping around, trying and failing to walk there himself. The man was struggling hard, and for a moment, Negan was sure he was going to get bitten.

After Negan dropped him down on the couch, he took a seat in the recliner that was set off to the side. The man flailed for several moments before sitting upright, a snarl still on his lips “So, how’s it feel to be human again, huh? Weird, I bet. You got a name?”

There was a low rumbling in the man’s chest and he tried to work his mouth around the words he was trying to say. “Rrrlrr,” he growled, before reaching his hands up to his face, and running his fingers over the features he probably hadn’t seen in years, smearing the blood that was still on his face across his hands. “Drrrl.”

“Derl? What the fuck kind of name is that?” Negan grinned. The grin widened even more when a pair of angry blue eyed drilled into his own. “Relax, man, I’m just fucking with you. Take a minute, go through the alphabet, think about how shit sounds, I don’t fucking know. Just keep trying.”

The man nodded, and slowly started mouthing letters. The moments of silence seemed to calm the man, just barely. A few minutes later, he carefully said, “Daaaarrrryl. Daarryl.”

“Daryl? Shit, you must have been a redneck,” Negan said, under his breath. “Nice to meet you, Daryl. I’m Negan, but you know that already.”

“Rrrrick,” Daryl said slowly, attempting to stand up, but only succeeding in falling on his ass.

“I told you, Daryl, you gotta take this shit slowly. You can’t just start running and jumping and talking a mile a minute. You need to crawl a little bit first.” Negan laughed, and licked his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that, as a matter of fact.”

While he expected to be glared at again, it seemed like Daryl was taking this literally. Which, again, Negan didn't mind. Hell, he had half a mind to invite Lucille over to watch all of this unfold, had it not been for the whole ‘Rick dying’ thing.

Daryl carefully slid off of the couch and slipped to his knees. He grasped awkwardly at the coffee table trying to keep himself upright, seemingly in awe of his thumbs. It was fascinating to watch him slowly learning how to be a man again. 

“When you get yourself under control, we're gonna go see Rick,” Negan promised, Daryl's head whipping around at the name. While he couldn't wait to see Rick’s reaction to his pet, Negan had a feeling that Rick wouldn’t be in any state to do it for quite a while.

Nodding his head, Negan let his eyes drift over Daryl’s body. His skin was dotted with scars here and there, ones that he recognized from his canine form. Huh. So they did carry over. There was also a worryingly large amount of blood around Daryl’s mouth and on his hands.

Daryl had long, uncut, shaggy brown hair, but those eyes remained as piercing and devilish as Negan first remembered.

Scowling slightly at Negan, Daryl started working on a new word. “N-n-nnnnnow!” he spat, his aggression spiking.

“Easy there, slugger,” Negan smirked. “Can’t take you to the hospital til we get you cleaned up and into some clothes. They might not take too kindly to me walking in there with a naked dude.” 

Looking down at himself, Daryl scowled. “Cl-clo-thes. N-now.”

“Need to hose you off first. C’mon. Where’s Rick’s shower?” Negan asked, standing up from the recliner and peering around the living room. He looked back at Daryl and smirked again. “Maybe you should just walk around on your hands and knees. For now. You can practice walking once we’ve got all that blood off you.”

Taking his hands off the coffee table, Daryl rested them on the floor and moved forward tentatively. He seemed much more comfortable on his hands and knees. He moved quickly down the hallway, and forgetting he had hands, nosed open Rick’s bedroom door. Daryl looked back over his shoulder and Negan jerked his eyes from the man’s ass, back to his face. “Keep on goin’. I’ll help you.”

Breaking into a huge grin, Negan followed Daryl into the bathroom. This was gonna be  _ fun. _

* * *

It was almost  _ amazing  _ how innocent Daryl truly was. How the entire time Negan was rinsing him down, Daryl simply sat and studied his hands and body, utterly transfixed. It was as if Negan was working with a baby, one that was experimentally grabbing things and trying his best to hold onto them, only for them to slip from his fingers. Daryl only became more and more frustrated, letting out little huffs and growls. Almost none of them actual words.

Though Negan sure as hell was enjoying himself--and he would definitely be telling Lucille  _ all  _ about this--he needed to wait until they checked on Rick.

With Daryl scrubbed clean, Negan stared into Ricks closet, searching for something Daryl could wear. Shit, nothing was going to fit over those broad shoulders of his. Maybe Negan should give up some of his own clothes… Huffing, he finally picked out some shorts and a shirt that looked like it could be stretched out and worn without too much discomfort.

He walked back to Daryl, who was still sitting on the bathroom on the floor, staring at his feet like they were foreign. “Alright, let's get you on two feet,” Negan said, setting the clothes down onto the sink. Daryl glared up at him, though Negan was starting to suspect that it was just how Daryl stared at people.

He grabbed Daryl’s bicep and pulled him up, then guided him to grab onto the edge of the sink to help keep him steady. “Now, you just stay still and-”

He was cut off by an explosion of snarls, Daryl's entire body going rigid. Jerking his head up, Negan suppressed the sudden pit in his stomach. Daryl’s face had gone almost white, his body shaking, and he was snarling at the  _ mirror.  _ The reflection he hadn't seen in what could be decades.

Thinking quickly, Negan grabbed a towel and threw it over the mirror. “Hey, chill! It's just you, just your face, Jesus!”

Daryl's snarled tapered off, but he was still shivering with what Negan guessed was fear. Shit, he looked a little worse for wear, but he didn't look  _ that _ bad. Biting back several burning questions, Negan just grabbed the clothes.

After a long and more than difficult fifteen minutes, Negan had his arm underneath Daryl's shoulders, pulling him to the living room. Daryl was still quite wet, his hair dripping, but it just wasn't a priority.

Eying his new charge, Negan shook his head. The shorts he’d stuffed Daryl into were a little on the short side, and the fabric was stretched taut over his muscular thighs. The shirt wasn’t any better. The seams on the arms were stressed to their limit, and every time Daryl so much as moved his arms, a sliver of his stomach and the blade-sharp ridges of his hip bones were exposed. 

“Rrrrick!” Daryl growled out at Negan once more, flashing surprisingly sharp teeth. Perhaps that was something that carried over as well.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll go see Rick,” Negan muttered, “You need to figure out how to walk first. It’s that, or push you around in a fuckin’ wheelchair, and I really don’t think that’s gonna fucking happen.”

Maneuvering around until he was standing in front of Daryl, with his arms on the other man’s shoulders holding him steady, Negan said, “Alright. Try and stay balanced. Remember, you’ve only got two feet now, try and center your body weight between them.”

Daryl glared up at him, his eyes narrowed behind shaggy bangs, but he nodded. Negan gave his shoulder a little nudge when Daryl started to list a little, but all in all, he was doing a pretty good job. “That it, you got it. Memory of walking around upright starting to come back to you?”

Pushing away Negan’s hands, Daryl started stumbling around the room. He was still pretty unbalanced, his gait going from slow to fast, then so fast he ran straight into the wall. Negan chuckled at that. Daryl reminded him of Lucille’s little nephew, and all the walls he’d smashed into when he was learning to walk. 

Practically launching himself off the wall, Daryl lurched in Negan’s direction, and Negan threw out his hands to catch him. “You’re getting the hang of it, but I think you might need some more practice before-”

“No!” Daryl growled, his hands clutching at Negan’s shirt. “Rrrrick. N-now!”

Holding up his hands in surrender, nearly causing Daryl to topple over, Negan sighed. “Fine, lets go. The hospital staff are just gonna fucking love you. All surly and growly. Shit. This is gonna be awesome. For me, anyway.”


	12. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan and Daryl try to keep their heads up as they wait for news on Rick. All Daryl can think about was that he felt like history was repeating itself, and can only hope that the outcome wasn't the same.

“For god’s sake, put your head back in the car!”

Daryl flinched. Negan sort of reminded him of his Pa. Just a little. There was something about his eyes. With a little shiver, Daryl pulled his head back inside the car, and tried to figure out how to ask the questions he needed to ask. Was Rick okay? Did he die like Morgan had? Would he still want Daryl around if he found out Blue  _ was _ Daryl?

“Rrrick. Die?”

Negan looked over at him, sympathy showing briefly in his dark eyes. “I don’t know, man. Shane just said he got shot. You’d know more about that than I would, since you were there and all. Where’d he get hit?”

Daryl stretched his arms back behind himself and tried to show Negan the area right next to his shoulder blade, and then pressed a hand down onto his chest. “Here.”

Negan shook his head. “That could be a bad one. You might not want to get your hopes up.”

Daryl swallowed and sank down into the seat, unable to stop himself from fidgeting. It was extremely uncomfortable. It felt like he was supposed to be sitting on his tail. But he didn’t  _ have _ a tail.

He paused, and tried his best to form the words before he finally took in a breath. “Can… t die. Can't. P-please.”

The car pulled into the parking lot of a big building. Daryl swallowed hard. He hadn’t been inside a place like this since… Well, he wasn’t exactly sure how long it had been. A long time. Maybe six or seven. Daryl was pretty sure he’d been eleven when it happened. The first shift.

He’d come home from school early. The past several days he hadn’t felt right, and at the time, he’d just figured it was because of the last beating he’d gotten from Pa. The lashes on his back were pretty inflamed. He could feel the heat of them through his clothes. When he’d walked in the door, Daryl had seen his Pa laid out on the couch, and known, instantly, that coming home was a bad idea.

Pa had launched himself up off the couch and started going on about how much of a disappointment Daryl was, and how much of a pussy he was, and how it was Daryl’s fault that his momma had died.

When Pa said that, Daryl had started to fight back. Maybe he was a pussy, and maybe he was a disappointment, but it was  _ not _ his fault that Momma was dead. But Pa had grabbed the strap before he could do anything. After nearly an hour of the beating, Daryl grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on, his Pa’s heavy glass ashtray, and knocked him in the head with it.

His Pa went down, and Daryl got the hell out of there. He ran through the woods for what felt like hours, until he collapsed on the ground, panting and weeping at the same time. That’s when it happened. One second he was Daryl, and the next second, there was a blinding pain, and he was… Not Daryl.

It took him a few tries to pull his shaky limbs underneath him, and start to walk. He was as uncoordinated as a newborn fawn he’d seen in the woods once. 

Daryl didn’t know how long he wandered--days, probably--before he ran into another person. It was a little boy, about his age, and Daryl was nearly blinded with hunger by then. He’d run up to where the boy was eating his lunch and grabbed the sandwich right out of his hands. Just snapped it up with jaws that were starting to feel like he’d had them forever.

He doesn’t remember the boy’s name, but he’d called Daryl Leo. He fed Daryl sometimes over the next couple months, ruffled his fur, and patted his head. It was the first time in Daryl’s life that someone was nice to him, with no hidden motives. The boy had no  _ reason _ to pet Daryl, to call him a good boy, but he did. It made Daryl feel warm inside. Sort of like when his momma used to hug him close and tell him she loved him. He hadn’t felt that in a long time. He decided life as Leo was much better than life as Daryl. So, he stayed Leo. 

Then he was Max. After Max, he was Scout. And then he found Morgan, and Morgan called him Stryker.

Life as Stryker… It had been some of the happiest times of his life. He had made a difference. He had been by Morgan's side, fighting enemies, putting every ability he had to the test…

But then…

“Hey. C’mon.” A hand settled on his shoulder, making him jump and swing his head back to Negan. The other man was frowning, and the expression left a hole in his gut.

“Whatever happens, it's gonna work out. Got it?”

Daryl just swallowed and looked away. He pressed his hand against the car door and pushed, motioning to be released. He could hear Negan sigh loudly.

“Hands, kiddo. Hands.”

Watching Negan demonstrate how the door handle worked, Daryl managed to get himself out of the car. His legs still felt wobbly, and he clutched at the frame trying to maintain his balance.

“Just go slow, dude. I’m right here if you need a hand,” Negan said, his hand hovering over Daryl’s shoulder. “Straight ahead. Through those double doors.”

When they finally made it inside the hospital, Daryl wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like the smell of this place. It smelled wrong. Like sickness, and chemicals and death. Rubbing at his nose, he turned to Negan and growled, “Smells b-bad.”

Negan nodded. “I know. All the chemicals, and shit. Makes my nose itch.”

Daryl nodded back. “Sick. Dead,” he said, pressing his hands to his nose. “L-lots of dead.”

“Hopefully, your good buddy Rick isn’t one of them.” Negan placed a hand on Daryl’s chest and said, “Wait here. I’ll go find out where he’s at.”

Grunting in agreement, Daryl let himself lean against the wall, something else that felt unnatural. His back shouldn't be touching anything. He should be laying down. Should be doing anything else. It just didn't feel right.

As he waited for Negan, who had gone to a desk with a lady behind it, Daryl tried to clear his head.

He could smell so much blood. Could smell the antiseptic. Then there was the reek of death that no amount of washing could remove. It was strangling to even breathe.

And just like that, he was back to that place. To the smell of fresh blood and death, gun powder peppering the air. The blood sticking to his body, the aching pain of the bullet, the cries of pain and the desperate commands over Morgan's radio...

Pressing his hands harder against his nose, he clenched his eyes shut and tried to focus on anything else. Tried to find Rick’s scent. Just… please, be alive. He couldn't lose another one.

The hand touched his shoulder again, and Negan spoke. “He's in surgery,” Negan said, but Daryl didn't bother opening his eyes. “It’s still gonna be a while.”

“N-no. No s-stay. Hurt.”

“How about we go to that bakery Rick always goes to while we wait, huh? I haven’t seen Carol since Lucille and I got back from our trip.”

Daryl nodded. He wasn’t sure what a bakery was, but anywhere had to be better than here. “Y-yes. Go.”

Negan hooked an arm through Daryl’s, and let Daryl lean on him as they walked out the double doors again. When they stepped outside, Daryl took in a long, deep breath, trying to rid his nose of all the smells from inside.

It was a short drive to the bakery, and Daryl was silent the entire way. He was curled up in his seat, a hand shielding his face from the light that was streaming in through the window.

“We’re here,” Negan said, reaching over and unhooking the belt he’d strapped around Daryl when they’d gotten into the car. “I think you’ll like this place. Rick mentioned your fondness for puppuccinos. What they have here is way better.”

Daryl perked up a little bit at the thought of the sweet treat Rick made sure he got at least twice a week, then he sunk back into the seat, immediately feeling guilty for thinking of something other than if Rick was okay or not.

“C’mon, Daryl. It’ll be good for you. You’re stressed out. When we get in there I’ll call Shane, and I’ll get an update on Rick for you. Okay?”

Not bothering with a response, Daryl reached out and opened the door. His legs were getting steadier every time he used them, so he was able to make his own way out of the car. The second he stepped out, his nose went into the air, sniffing loudly. “Sssmells happy,” he said, looking over at Negan.

“Goddamn right! This chick makes the best fucking pastries I’ve ever had. I need to remember to buy some for Lucille, or she’ll kick my fucking ass.”

Daryl shrugged. “Go in-inside now.”

“Lead the way, hot shot,” Negan grinned, sweeping out his arm. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Momentarily confused by the door, Daryl stepped back, and let Negan pull it open. “Turn and pull,” the older man said, a slight smirk on his face. “Thumbs are fucking awesome, right?”

Nodding, Daryl slowly made his way inside, his eyes closing involuntarily at the heavenly smell that inundated the small space. 

“Welcome!”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, and he almost let out a low whine. There was a woman on the other side of the counter. He recognized her. She was the one who set out food and water for him. Before Rick found him. His face changed, and Daryl felt like he wanted to wag his tail. “Lady. Nnnnice lady.” Turning to look at Negan, he pointed at Carol. “Nice lady.”

“Hmm?” Negan quirked an eyebrow at Daryl and turned back to Carol. “That's Carol. She owns the place,” he stared, still plainly confused. “She's a damn saint if you ask me.”

Huffing lowly, Daryl wrapped his hand around Negan’s bicep and tugged, almost as if he was on a leash again. “Nice!” he insisted, unable to gather the words to properly explain. It was one thing to hear everyone else talking and getting the basic information from their sentences. It was something else entirely to string together his own words, something he had not done for decades. It was like learning to speak a language all over again.

Negan just shrugged, adjusting his hold to where Daryl's arm was hooked into his own, pulling their bodies closer for support. Or maybe it was to keep Daryl from lunging out. It had felt like an eternity since he saw this woman!

Carol, who looked confused, still smiled at them, and Daryl couldn't hold down a returning grin. “What can I help you boys with?” she asked, picking up her little notepad and clicking a pen.

Sophia. Daryl wanted Sophia! She lived here! Somewhere! He took in another deep breath, trying to pick out her scent that was muddled by countless strangers.

“Alley,” he said, pointing to the door that led to the outside alley. “Food. Bed. Ffffor Sc-sc-rappy.”

Negan arched an eyebrow, but Carol smiled. “Scrappy has a new name now. Rick calls him Blue. He’s a wonderful dog, so smart.”

Daryl nodded almost frantically, and pointed to himself. “Scrappy. Blue.”

“Uh,  _ Daryl, _ now may not be the best time-”

Daryl growled, and yanked his arm away from Negan. “No. Nice lady.” He thought for a moment, and said, in a softer voice, “She understand?”

Tugging Daryl a few feet away from an obviously confused Carol, Negan whispered, “You might not want to do this right now. Maybe just wait and see. You know, tell the important people first. I’d say Rick is more important to you than Carol.”

“Yes. But C-Carol nice. Nice lady. Fed me. Place to sleep.”

“Ahh, so that’s what you meant. What, she put some food and water and shit in the alley for you?”

Daryl nodded, and glanced back to Carol, who was looking anywhere but at them. “Nice lady.”

“You said that already,” Negan laughed. “Why don’t you sit down. I’ll go get us some stuff to eat.”

Negan pressed lightly on Daryl’s shoulder, and he sank down into a chair. It was so strange. Sitting at a table, having clothes on, having  _ thumbs. _ Daryl reached out and picked up a small container that was sitting on the table, just because he could. Negan was right. Thumbs were awesome.

In the time it took for Negan to order food, Daryl had explored everything on the table. He was almost out of his chair, ready to go explore some of the other tables when Negan came back, setting down a cup, and a large… something, in front of him.

“Be careful with the cup. Shit, I probably should have gotten you something cold. You’re gonna spill that all over and burn yourself. Don’t touch anything, I’ll be right back.”

Daryl watched Negan return to the counter, and leaned closer to the large brown mound that was in front of him. It was dotted with small dark flecks, and when Daryl took a cautious sniff, his eyes nearly rolled into his head.  _ Chocolate. _ He remembered chocolate.

Not waiting another second, Daryl lifted what he later learned was a chocolate chip muffin, and bit into the top. Chewing blissfully, he looked over at Negan, and attempted a smile. “Chocolate,” he said, small crumbs flying from his mouth. “S’good.”

Negan made a weird croaking sound, pressing his hand against his lips. “Don't talk with your mouth full, boy. I know it's good. Just keep eating.” Waving his hand dismissively, Negan sat down with a cup of his own.

Pausing in his demolishing of the muffin, Daryl leaned over the table to look down at the cup still held in Negan’s grasp. With a smirk, Negan tilted it closer. It took one small sniff to have Daryl recoiling back into his own seat, cringing down.

_ “Bad,”  _ Daryl hissed, pressing a hand to his nose.

“Coffee. Good,” Negan chuckled, tilting the cup to his lips so he could take a sip. “‘Bout the only way I'm getting through this day.”

Still hunkering into his seat, Daryl muttered under his breath and continued to eat his own muffin. He had all but forgotten his own cup of whatever, instead focusing entirely on the chocolate.

Rick didn't give him chocolate. Said it was bad for dogs. Even when he managed to tear open a bar with his teeth and ate it with no difficulties, Rick still had scolded him and sent him to the laundry room, threatening a trip to the vet.

Daryl shuddered, keeping his attention strictly on the muffin that was getting smaller and smaller with every bite. Though just as he started digging into the center, he felt a hand on his wrist. 

Snapping his head up, Daryl let out a loud warning growl at Negan, who quickly retracted his hand.

“Hey, take it easy! I gotta take off the paper!” Negan said, eyes widening while he reached out for the food tightly held in Daryl’s grasp. Instead, Daryl only pushed himself farther away, stuffing the remnants of the muffin into his mouth. Like hell was he going to let someone take his food!

“Dude, the bottom of that muffin is wrapped in paper. Can’t you taste it?”

Pausing in his chewing, Daryl poked his tongue at his mouthful. It felt different than the muffin did. Reaching into his mouth, he pulled out the offending bit of paper, and dropped it on the table. “Paper.”

Negan snorted, and grabbed the wet wrapper with a napkin, tossing it into the garbage can that was sitting a couple feet away. “Yeah, paper. Not food. Next time, just peel it off before you suck down the muffin.”

Daryl nodded, and started eying the pastry that was sitting on a plate in front of Negan. He hadn’t had anything to eat for a while, and the muffin had just barely taken the edge off his hunger. Since he’d been with Rick, he gotten used to eating plenty of food. Being hungry was harder now.

“Daryl eat?” he asked, pointing at the plate.

Negan laughed, and said, “You want my croissant, huh?” He pushed the little plate across the table. “Go for it, man. It’s not chocolate though.”

Daryl shrugged, and took a bite. “Food,” he muttered, once he swallowed his first bite. “Hungry.”

“You thirsty, too?” Negan pointed at another cup when Daryl nodded. “Try that one first. It’s sweet tea. Cold, so if you spill while you’re getting used to it, it won’t matter.”

Setting down the half eaten croissant, Daryl wrapped his hand around the cup, and tried to bring it to his lips, like he’d seen other people do over the years. He quickly realized that two hands were better than one, and he was taking long gulps of sweet, cold tea after only spilling a little bit.

“You must be from around here. Good southern boys always appreciate a nice cup of sweet tea.”

“Senoia,” Daryl said, licking his lips.

Negan looked surprised. “That’s where you’re from? Not too far from here.”

Daryl shrugged. He had no idea where he was. Just knew it was somewhere in Georgia.

“You gonna try your other drink? It shouldn’t be that hot anymore.”

Daryl looked at the cup with narrowed eyes, then looked at Negan. “Coffee?”

“No, it’s not coffee. Try it. You’ll like it. Pull off the lid first.”

Doing as Negan had instructed, Daryl pulled off the lid, and took a sniff. His eyes widened. “Chocolate?”

“Try it and see,” Negan grinned.

With no reason to hold suspicions, Daryl had to force himself to be careful and not nearly dump the liquid into his mouth. He picked up the cup, trying to keep his hands from shivering in excitement, then pressed it to his lips. Barely two gulps in, and Daryl was now draining the cup without taking a moment for breath.

With the chocolate stains still on his face and chin, he dropped the cup back down onto the table with a happy rumble. He was looking much more relaxed now, and his worries managed to melt into the background.

“You finish up on the croissant, and I'm gonna grab something for Lucille. Got it?” Negan grinned, already sliding out of his seat. Daryl just nodded, sinking his teeth into the fluffy pastry.

He watched from the corner of his eyes as Negan walked up to Carol, talking to her quietly and handing her some of that green paper he saw everyone handling. It wasn't something he remembered from before he shifted, at least not a lot.

Mentally shrugging, Daryl closed his eyes and ate the rest of the croissant, only to nearly jump at Negan’s booming voice.

“Alright, pup, let's go out to the car. I'll call Shane and we can see how Rick is doing. Fair?”

Nodding, Daryl pulled himself out from the chair while Negan picked up whatever was left on the table, tossing them in the trash. Waving at Carol, because that's what humans did, Daryl let Negan lead him out of the doorway and towards the car.

He managed to open the car door on the first try, leaving him near bursting with pride, but as soon as he sat down, that all was sucked out of his body.

Rick.

How could he be enjoying himself when he didn't know if Rick was okay? What kind of friend was he? His mind circled around those few seconds, of when he spotted the third man right behind Rick, and his gun. He tried to take the man down, he really did, but even after he had dragged the criminal to the ground, he could still hear Shane’s scream for Rick.

And he looked so lifeless, staring at the sky… And he was taken back to that place. Where  _ his _ blood matted in his paws, where he had bitten down into the thick vest and tried to drag  _ him _ to safety behind the barriers. But the bullets… No one could hear him howling for help. No one could see him in the blackness of the night.

No one was there as he huddled over his fallen master, trying to keep the warmth from leaving his body.

“Hey.”

Daryl looked up, and just for a second, it wasn’t Negan sitting in the seat next to him, it was Morgan. Shaking his head, Daryl forced himself into the present. “Tired,” he said, leaning against the window.

“I’m sure. I texted Shane. Rick’s still in surgery, but the docs  _ think _ he’s gonna be okay. He’s not out of the woods yet, not even close, but he’s got a shot.”

“Out of w-woods?”

“There’s still a chance he might die, but they don’t think he will.”

Daryl suddenly wished for his squirrel. He needed something to occupy his mind. With a lack of other options, he shoved his thumb into his mouth, and started nibbling on his nail. “See him?”

Negan shook his head. “According to Shane, he’s gonna be in surgery for another few hours, then they’re putting him in the ICU. That’s the Intensive Care Unit. You won’t be allowed in there because you’re not family.”

Curling into as small a ball of possible, Daryl whispered, “Home. Please.”

“Yeah. I’ll take you home.”

The second Negan pulled the car into the driveway, Daryl was out the door. He was stumbling over his own feet, but he managed to stay upright. He ignored Negan’s voice yelling after him, and thundered up the porch steps, his breath getting alarmingly fast as he tried to open the door.

“It’s locked, Daryl. Just pull back for a second, I’ll get it.”

Unable to get his breathing under control, Daryl just nodded.

When the door was open, Daryl started through, ripping at the clothes he was wearing as he did. He managed to get the t shirt over his head, but the shorts… There was some sort of string, and they wouldn’t come loose, and Daryl growled, and snarled but it didn’t help, and it wasn’t fair!

Negan’s hand covered his own, and Daryl barely managed to push down the urge to snap at the other man. “Calm down, and let go.”

Silently, Daryl stood there, and let Negan work on getting the knot around his waist undone. When it was released, Daryl pushed Negan’s hands away, and ran from the room, the shorts falling down around his ankles, and tripping him feet away from Rick's room.

Negan was there again, trying to help Daryl up, and Daryl didn’t hold back his instincts this time. His eyes were filled with tears when he turned them toward Negan, and he let out a low growl, gnashing his teeth in anger and frustration.

“Need go back,” Daryl growled out, pushing himself back into the corner. “Easier, better. Go  _ back.” _

“Okay, okay,” Negan hushed, and took a few steps back. Daryl didn't want to take a bite out of Negan, he really didn't, but all he wanted was to be alone. Be his other form where he could squeeze into a corner and disappear.

Scratching at the floor, Daryl let out a low rumble as his body began to shudder. Fur pierced through his skin, bones crunched, and ‘Blue’ managed to free himself from the fabric of the shorts still hanging onto his back paws.

Struggling up to four feet, something that was an intense relief to his body, Daryl snapped his jaws back at Negan with a warning growl.

Standing up straight, Negan held out his hands. “Hey, it's cool. Go lie down, go do what you gotta do. Okay?”

Baring his teeth, Daryl whipped himself around and darted deeper into the house, pushing open the door to Rick's room. Needed his master. Needed something from him.

He leaped up onto the bed and started to paw his way through the layers of blankets to the bare mattress beneath. His scent. He needed Rick’s scent. Just to feel like he was still here.

Daryl buried his snout into the thick blankets and burrowed between the sheets and the mattress, trying to surround himself with Rick.

He had to be okay. Daryl couldn't lose Rick. Not like this.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe we can go back up to the hospital.”

Daryl just whined, and burrowed further into the covers.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Negan stopped in the kitchen, and from what Daryl heard, filled up his water and food bowls before making his way out of the house. He heard the soft click of the lock after Negan shut the door, and let out a short puff of air, ruffling the sheet his muzzle was buried in.

Rick just had to get better. Daryl was more attached to him than any of the other people he’d known over the years. Rick was kinder, gentler, more in tune with Daryl himself. Rick was more important. Rick was just…  _ More. _

Whining softly, Daryl inhaled long deep breaths of Rick’s scent, and closed his eyes. Maybe if he went to sleep, he would wake up and discover this was all a bad dream.

* * *

The sound of the front door slamming open jolted Daryl awake. His entire body turned stiff, each muscle pruned and ready to snap to attention. It took several rapid breaths of Rick's lingering scent to bring him back to the bedroom, but as soon as he realized that he was alone, all the memories came flooding back.

But who was at the door?

For a moment, just a split second, Daryl managed to convince himself that everything was a lie. Rick was fine. He came home. The doctors fixed him.

Even as his paws stumbled and snagged against the blankets, he scrambled free and raced to the living room. Rick was okay. He could stay as Blue. He didn't have to know that he had done a bad thing.

The second he turned the corner, though, Daryl skidded to a stop. It wasn't Rick.

It was Shane.

He stood in the open doorway, the door still swinging back from being slammed open with great force. His head was down, hands fisted at his side, and Daryl knew immediately that something was wrong. Because he knew that exact posture, and as Shane swung his head up to stare back at him, Daryl could have sworn it was his Pa standing there instead.

“Wha’ the  _ fuck's _ wrong with you?!” Shane snarled, staggering out of the doorway and grabbing the door. He slammed it shut behind him, and the entire house rattled. Raising his hand at him, he pointed a finger. It trembled horribly, like the rest of his body.

Even as Shane was still feet away, Daryl could smell the alcohol like it was oozing out of his pores. His eyes were glazed and blank, but Daryl could still see the fury, that unbridled anger that almost made him piss on the floor.

“Shitty ass thing,  _ knew  _ you'd only be worth shit! Look at what you did!”

Shane lumbered another step closer, and Daryl felt his rear bump against the wall. His tail curled tight between his legs, and all he could do was try to press himself down to the floor. Maybe if Shane didn't think he was a threat. Maybe if he could just hide.

Swinging his hand to some general direction, Shane glared down at him. “You fucked it all up! Got Rick out there  _ beggin’  _ to get his ass shot! Wouldn't get off'a him so I could stop the bleeding! Fuckin’ snarling and shit, just a beat up mutt that should'a been put down when I had the chance!”

A small whine slipped from him, but Daryl couldn't stop it if he tried. He knew what that meant. Being put down. Bad dogs got put down. Those other dogs. The ones that fought the other dogs.

But Daryl thought he did good! He didn't fight other dogs, he did what Rick said!

Suddenly turning his back on Daryl, Shane stalkers to the center of the living room, wandering in endless patterns. “You know what they're gonna do to ya’? They're gonna put you down! Don't matter if Rick lives, don't matter what me or ‘Chonne say, you killed someone!”

Daryl shook his head, trying to force his near constant whines into words, slowly morphing into barks. Shane didn't understand. Daryl had to kill him! He tried to protect Rick! He was just trying to be a good dog!

“You ripped that guy to shreds! I  _ knew  _ you were dangerous but did he fuckin’ listen?  _ No! _ Now look at what you did!”

Jerking his head back to Daryl, Shane grit his teeth together. He stomped towards him, every step sending tremors through the floor. “You got Rick killed!”

No, I didn't! I tried to save him, I swear!

“This is your fault! You were s'posed to protect him!”

I  _ tried! _

“Bad dog! Bad fuckin’ dog, s'all you are! A fucked up mongrel!”

I'm not a bad dog, I'm good! I'm trying to be good!

“This is _all_ _your fault!”_

Daryl didn't know why he didn't see the kick coming, not when Shane reeled back in front of him. All he could do was bark his unheard pleas. That he wasn't a bad dog. That he tried to save Rick. But the barks were cut off by a yelp as Shane's steel toed boot met his side, kicking him across the floor.

He landed in a jumbled heap, trying to scramble up again. He didn't want to be beat. Not again. Though even as his training screamed at him to fight back, that Shane was dangerous, all he did was cower against the wall. 

Rick wouldn't forgive him if he bit Shane.

Daryl didn't want to be a bad dog.

It was why he just pushed his face against the wall, squeezed his eyes shut, and prepared himself for another kick.

It was only after ten minutes of silence that Daryl cracked open one eye, even when he was sure that Shane was waiting to get another shot at kicking him. Instead, he saw Shane standing stiff, unmoving, his eyes focused onto his cowering body.

Then Shane started to tremble. He saw it in his hands, then his shoulders. His face that had been flushed red turned pale momentarily, and his mouth dropped open.

“I-I-” Shane stammered, his words barely above a breath. Daryl only pressed himself harder against the wall, like he could somehow mold into the wallpaper. Maybe this would all be better if he could just… Hide. Hide forever. If he just went away.

Then the problems would go away.

A soft whine left him like an exhale, and it felt like the strength in his body left with it.

Shane was right. He was a bad dog, and he didn't save Rick.

He was bad. And now Rick will die because he was bad.

Bad, bad, bad, bad…!

A heavy weight landed on the floor beside him, making Daryl flinch. He was going to be punished again. He deserved it. Because he was a bad dog, and bad dogs get beat.

But instead of another kick or a punch or a shove, he felt Shane's still shaking hands carefully pull at his body. He refused to be moved at first, until he heard Shane's mumbles.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Blue, I'm sorry.”

Over and over. And when Daryl finally lifted his head, he saw the tears that were running down Shane's cheeks.

He had never seen Shane cry. Not even at sad movies. Rick would cry and Shane called him a pussy. But Shane was crying.

In awkward, sloppy movements, Shane pulled Daryl into his lap and held him, squeezed him tight and buried his face into his fur. Sobs muffled against his body, and so were the words. Daryl still heard every one. He always did.

“I'm scared, I don't want him to die. I didn't save him. He can't die…”

Even as his side still throbbed with pain from the kick, Daryl still let his guard fall. He let his body relax in Shane's hold, and he only squeezed him tighter and the sobs got louder.

He let Shane cry into his fur, and listened to his pleas to God that Rick was going to be okay. But Shane also pleaded for Blue. That they wouldn't take him away. Because Blue wasn't a bad dog, and Shane couldn't lose them both. He couldn't lose his best friend.

And Rick couldn't lose Blue.


	13. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Daryl wants is for Rick to be okay. But he has to wait. Every second that ticks by is longer than the last, with no end in sight. At least he has Negan until then.

Shane didn't leave until morning, when Negan came by to take Daryl back to the hospital. Shane insisted he was just checking on Blue, but after a hushed conversation, Shane agreed to let Negan handle Blue from then on.

When Daryl shifted, Negan saw the bruise on his side. It was hard not to notice, and even now, several hours later, it ached when he took a deep a breath or moved the wrong way, but he would take it silently. 

He took  _ everything _ silently. The drive was silent, the waiting was silent, Daryl was silent. They had been sitting in the ‘waiting room’ for what felt like days, but apparently was only about an hour. It was uncomfortable having to sit and wait, but Negan said they would probably be waiting for a long time, so he tried to make the most of it.

Daryl still wasn’t completely acclimated to all the smells. Sometimes he needed to step outside to clear his head, and Negan would accompany him just to ensure Daryl didn’t get  _ distracted _ . Like it was Daryl’s fault that stupid cat had been in the parking lot. 

Negan took to smoking a few cigarettes while they waited, and Daryl had taken one straight from Negan’s mouth to try to smoke it, just like he had seen his Pa and Merle do.

Well, he certainly didn't smell much after that.

He had still been hacking and wheezing by the time he and Negan headed inside, the other man snickering and grinning the entire time. “Such a pup,” he chuckled as he helped Daryl sit onto the couch, plopping down right beside him.

Daryl had stopped trying to play with the papers stapled together that sat on the tables. His hands were too large and fumbled with the pages. Instead he just stayed up on the couch, annoyed that this body couldn't curl up as tightly as his other could.

Negan had already explained that Rick survived the operation last night, but he was still thready. Daryl didn't know what thready meant, and he didn't want to ask, either. As long as Rick was still breathing…

Daryl had just closed his eyes to rest when he heard loud steel-toed footsteps rushing to the waiting room.

“Hey!” Daryl winced at the shout that was much too loud for the room, and blinked open his eyes. Shane burst through the doorway, his eyes searching and landing on Negan.

_ Shane. _

The memory of last night rushed back, and Daryl’s side throbbed.

“Negan! Just got out of the station. Fucking paperwork and shit. Any upda-” Shane stopped and stared down at Daryl, making his body tense. He wasn't Blue right now. He was a man Shane didn't know.

“You and Lucy got a third again? Nice.”

Negan barked out a laugh. “Nah, this is just a uh... friend of mine. Rick’s, too.”

When Shane opened his mouth again, Negan interrupted him.

“It’s a relatively new friendship. Probably why you don’t know him.”

“As far as I know the only people Rick spends time with were me and Carl. And Blue, but…” Shane frowned, and looked away. He ran a hand across his close-cropped hair. “Rick is gonna kill me when he wakes up,” Daryl heard him mumble to himself.

Negan looked over at Daryl, and Daryl curled his lip the smallest bit, a nearly inaudible growl rumbling in his chest. Shane was the one who’d taken him away from Rick. Daryl could have helped. Could have done  _ something. _

“Don’t worry about Blue. I took care of him before I came here. He’s fine. Much calmer now,” Negan smirked, looking sideways at Daryl. “Isn’t that right, Daryl?”

Daryl grunted. “Yes. Much calmer.”

Speaking was getting easier. Negan had made him practice for an agonizingly long time before he’d finally taken Daryl out to his car, and driven them to the hospital. He still had issues with certain sounds, but Negan assured him that it would become second nature with time.

“Thanks,” Shane said, holding out his hand to Daryl. “I’m Shane Walsh. Rick’s partner.”

Daryl looked at Shane’s outstretched hand with confusion for a moment before he reached out and took it. “Daryl.”

Shane tilted his head. “Just Daryl, huh?” Shane laughed, and released Daryl’s hand after giving it a firm shake. “Sorta like Cher, or Madonna.”

“Come to think of it,” Negan drawled, “I don’t believe I remember your last name either, Daryl. What was it again?”

Stiffening his jaw, Daryl began the slow process of sitting up. The shirt he was wearing was exceedingly tight, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Daryl figured clothing was like a human's fur, but it was much more restricting and irritating, when it should be like a second skin.

Okay, now he hadn't said this word in a while… Clearing his throat, Daryl looked up at Shane. “Dixs-s-... Dixon. Daryl Dixon.”

Shane blinked, and Daryl felt his blood turn cold. He’d done something wrong already.

“Dixon?” Shane looked back at Negan, who seemed confused. Shane’s brow furrowed as he thought. “We got a Dixon family here. But the only one I know that's still alive and outta jail is Merle.”

_ Merle. _

Daryl needed to see Merle. Merle thought he was still dead.

“Merle. My brr-other,” Daryl forced out after a short pause. “Brother.”

Shane’s eyes widened. “Huh. I never knew that old fu- uh… I didn’t know Merle had a brother. Least it looks like you don’t take after him and your old man. Since I don’t know you, and all.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes, and scowled at Shane. “Merle took care o-of m-me. Made sh-sure I had food, and guh-got to school on time. Good brother.”

Holding his hands up in front of him, Shane chuckled uneasily. “Hey, whatever you say, man. Merle’s pretty much cleaned up his act now, anyway, now that y’all’s dad is gone.”

A sharp spike of something he couldn’t identify stabbed through Daryl’s stomach at that last sentence. His pa was dead. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Daryl had seen firsthand the kinds of things his pa liked to get up to.

“Pa was a dick,” he growled, eyes still narrowed. “Beat me. And Merle. Bad.”

Shane didn't seem surprised, but Negan winced beside him. “Shit, man,” Negan breathed, glancing to Daryl, his eyes glancing not too discreetly at his back. Negan had already seen his scars. Had pointed them out when he had been washing Daryl down yesterday.

Daryl just shook his head. “How… long?” he grunted, glancing at Shane from the corner of his eyes.

Shane cocked his head to the side then blinked. “Since your dad? Uh… I dunno. Ten? Fifteen years? I don't know, man. It's been a long time. You didn't know?”

A growl rumbled deep in his throat before he could silence it, and it wasn't until Negan's hand settled on his shoulder that it died out. He shook his head and dropped back down to the couch, curling up into the same position he’d been in before Shane had walked into the room.

Letting his mind drift while Shane and Negan talked, Daryl thought about his pa and his brother. He hadn’t missed his pa, not really, but he’d missed Merle. He’d had the occasional thought of times his pa had taken Daryl and Merle out into the woods, teaching them to track, and hunt. Him more than Merle, but Merle played along like they were his lessons, too. It had made Daryl happy to be learning something with his big brother. He figured out Merle was faking eventually, of course, and then it was mostly just Daryl and Pa. 

A couple of years later, Merle was gone. Off to fight a war in a place Daryl had never heard of. He was proud of his brother. He was brave, and strong, and Daryl knew he was going to come home safe. Daryl just hadn’t known he wouldn’t be there when Merle finally made it. And he hadn’t even thought once that his pa could be dead. For whatever reason, it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Daryl’s eyes jerked over to Shane when he exited the room, and a whine gathered at the base of his throat.

“Relax. He’s just going to talk to the nurse, and maybe the doctor. Since he’s Rick’s partner, they’ll give him a lot more information than they’ll give me.”

But Daryl was…

No, it didn't matter. What was he to Rick? Just his dog. His pet. Shane and Negan, they were the ones that mattered. Even if the rest of the world only saw him as a dog, though, he still refused to think of Rick as just his owner.

He would die for Rick. Would have died if he could have taken the bullet. Rick had a son… The longer he thought about it, the smaller his life seemed in comparison.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, moving his arm to cover his eyes. He just wanted to go back to a few days ago. Rick had given him a puppuccino, and when he’d accidentally spilled some on the seats of the car, Daryl thought Rick would yell, but he just laughed. Laughed and called Blue a messy boy.

His eyes watered beneath his arm, and he tried to hide his tears. If Rick died… If he was alone again… 

He was so deep into his own thoughts that he didn't hear Negan call his name, and it took a firm pat onto the back to rouse him.

“Hey, Daryl. He might not be up for visitors today. He’s still in the ICU, so you and I aren’t allowed in,” Negan said, his voice softer than normal. “I’ll keep bringing you up here every day. Shane said if all goes well, he’ll get put in a regular room in a couple days. They just need to make sure there aren’t any complications from his surgery.”

“See Rick now!” Daryl growled, tumbling out of the chair he’d been curled up on, and ramming his hip painfully on the tiled floor. 

Negan sighed, and shook his head. “You can’t, dude. It’s family only.”

Scrambling to his feet, Daryl straightened his spine and stood as tall as he could. Negan still towered over him. “Daryl  _ is _ family.”

“I get that, I really do,” Negan said, walking over to lay a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “But they,” he gestured out towards the hallway, “They won’t get that. They won’t understand.”

“I tell them. Then let me in?”

Rubbing at the stubble on his chin, Negan looked from Daryl to the hallway, and back again. “You could do that. But, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Daryl snarled, and shook off Negan’s hand. “Why?”

“Most people nowadays don’t think that shifters ever existed.” 

Scoffing, Daryl started to turn around, and head to the door.

“Hear me out, Daryl.”

Reluctantly, Daryl threw himself into a chair. He crossed his arms, and glared up at Negan from under his choppy bangs.

“What happens if you make a big announcement? Hey, I’m Daryl Dixon, and I’m a shifter! Huh? You’re gonna get all kinds of attention. People are gonna want to study you, and poke at you, and figure out how you work.”

“Rick won’t.”

“Yeah, I actually agree with you there, but what about Shane? Lori? The doctors in this hospital? Are you sure that all of those people would treat you the same after you told them? That none of them would try to take advantage of you?”

Squatting down in front of Daryl, Negan sighed, and ran a hand through his thick hair. “I think you should wait. When Rick gets better, start with telling him. He’s the one who has your best interests at heart.”

Daryl grudgingly nodded. It hurt not to be able to go see Rick. He wanted to shove his face into Rick’s neck and breathe him in. Rick made him feel warm inside. Like nothing would ever hurt him again. Daryl had never had that before, not even with Morgan.

He’d loved Morgan. So much that he’d been willing to lay down his life for him, too, but Rick was… Different. Daryl wasn’t quite sure how, but he knew he’d never want another master in his life ever again.

“Okay. Home now?”

“Yeah,” Negan grinned, ruffling Daryl’s hair. “I’ll take you home. I’ll show you how to make some real food, how about that?”

Daryl got out of his chair, and smiled tentatively. “Yes. M’hungry.”

Negan draped an arm around Daryl’s shoulders and threw the other one up in an arc. “Picture this: A giant greasy, cheesy hamburger, cooked on a grill. With some nice crispy french fries on the side. Sound good?”

“Like french fries. Rick shares with Blue.”

“Everybody likes french fries. It’s part of our DNA.”

“What deeanay?”

* * *

The first thing Daryl did when he got back to Rick’s house was shift. He probably should have waited until he got the clothes off, but they slipped away without much trouble. He was getting better at that, at shifting between forms. He had practiced that morning with Negan, and while it left him exhausted, he knew it was necessary.

Now within the safety of his home, he jumped up onto the couch and started to chew on his squirrel. It was one of the few things that set him at ease. Rick thought it was just to keep his jaws occupied as well as his mind, but honestly, Daryl didn't care.

It made him feel safe.

Negan had said something about going to get the food from his own house, and Daryl just huffed. As long as his day ended with food, he didn't care. He still had yet to figure out his own food, since Rick had put a latch on the door when he gotten into the kibble one too many times.

His weariness got the best of him, and soon after Negan left, Daryl was asleep, the toy still wedged between his jaws.

Daryl woke up some time later, his nose lifting into the air, and smelling the burgers and whatever else Negan brought with him. Abandoning his toy, he dropped down off the couch and padded towards the door, his head tilting at the person inside the kitchen. A woman. Was this Lucille? Lucy?

He opened his mouth before realizing that he couldn’t speak in this form. So, sucking in a breath, Daryl shifted, the stretching into his human form leaving an unpleasant sensation running through his body, like he was about to burst.

Shaking his head, he glanced down to make sure that everything had shifted the way it was supposed to. He nodded, smiling slightly, before extending his hand just like Shane had done. “Am Daryl,” he murmured.

Lucille chuckled, shifting the tray full of french fries to her other arm, her eyes sweeping over Daryl’s body. “Well now,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “I’m sure you are.”

She held out her hand and Daryl clasped it, shaking it up and down like Shane had. “Eat now?” he asked, looking over her shoulder, expecting to see Negan behind her.

“He’ll be right over. He forgot to grab the condiments. We’re not sure what Rick has in his fridge, so…” She shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” Negan said, his long legs eating up the space between the front door and the kitchen. He had a large platter of hamburgers in one hand, and a cloth bag in the other. “I told you it’d only take one trip.” Negan smiled proudly, and kissed Lucille’s forehead.

“Good for you, honey,” Lucille praised, watching Negan head walk away, then turning to Daryl and rolling her eyes. “He’s sort of an idiot, but I love him. What are you gonna do?”

Daryl shrugged, and cocked his head to the side. “Eat hamburgers?”

Lucille blinked, then shook her head with a sweet smile. “Silly. Come on. Let's eat hamburgers.” She reached out and grasped Daryl's hand, softly tugging him back into the direction of the kitchen table. 

While Daryl knew he didn't need to be led around, he allowed it. He’d always been a follower, taking orders from others and doing them to the best of his abilities. That had not changed in the few decades of his life.

Negan was walking around the kitchen and pulling out plates, setting them down on the table. Daryl furrowed his brow. He was going to have to eat at the table? Rick always let him drag whatever treat he had into the living room to eat it on the rug in front of the couch.

Flashing another smile, Negan strode over and cradled Lucille’s cheek, giving her a quick kiss to the lips. “We can't take him home,” he chuckled, then turned back to the plates and food.

Lucille visibly sulked, releasing Daryl’s hand and crossing her arms over her chest. Daryl didn't want them to fight. He didn't like fighting. Didn't like what it escalated into.

“You wanna put some pants on there, sparky?” Negan grinned. “I don’t really mind, but the lady over there, she’s staring like she wants to eat  _ you _ for fucking dinner.”

Daryl quickly pulled away from Lucille and frowned down at her. “Daryl is not for eating.”

“Oh, honey,” Lucille smiled, patting at Daryl’s cheek. “That’s not what he meant.”

Shaking his head, Daryl walked into the living room, and picked up the pants Negan had given him earlier. He’d called them track pants, and Daryl liked how the slick material felt sliding over his skin. Once he was satisfied that the pants were on correctly, he walked back into the kitchen.

“Much better,” Negan called out, as he piled lettuce and tomato onto a bun. “Now maybe Lucille’ll only drool over the hamburgers.”

Daryl grunted, and sat down in the chair to the right of where Rick always sat, and Negan plopped the plate he’d made down in front of him.

Sniffing at the food before poking a dubious finger at the tomato, Daryl flicked it off the burger. “Don’t like,” he said, his lip curling. “Slimy.”

“Fine,” Negan said, reaching over and plucking the offending fruit off Daryl’s plate, and putting the slice on his own burger. “More for me.”

Satisfied that there was nothing he was sure he wouldn’t like on his burger, Daryl imitated Negan and Lucille, and put the top bun on the burger. He watched Negan closely, and copied his every move. At least he didn’t have to try and manage silverware. He was sure he’d be horrible with it.

Daryl let out a little hum of pleasure when he bit into the burger. The warm, slightly toasted bread, crisp lettuce, and juicy meat brought back several good memories. He and his momma and his pa, even Merle, sitting around a campfire, and cooking burgers over the open flames. The meat had been deer, of course. His pa had almost never bought meat from the store. At least in those days...

Daryl grinned around his giant mouthful of food, causing Negan and Lucille to burst out laughing. 

“Hey,” Negan smirked, clapping a hand on Daryl’s shoulder affectionately, “At least we know he likes it.” 


	14. Waiting Room Mishaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's tried to be good, he's done everything right. Don't bark, don't whine, don't be a dog. But why isn't it working?

On the fourth day in a row of coming to the hospital, Daryl felt a little more at ease. The nurses weren't staring at him with narrowed eyes, suspicious or unnerved by what had to be unnatural movements. His speaking was improving, though he was sure his grammar was complete shit.

Shane stayed with them in the waiting room from time to time while Lori and Carl sat with Rick. From what Shane had said, Rick was still asleep. Which didn't really make sense to Daryl. How could someone be asleep for so long? It wasn't because he was… dying, right?

Daryl had claimed a spot of his own in the waiting room, curled up on a used-to-be-plush chair, in as small a ball as he could manage. Other people stared, but Daryl didn't like sitting like a human. It felt wrong. According to Negan, since he’d spent most of his life as a dog, the habits he’d developed would not be so easy to shake.

Negan sat a few feet away. Lucille had come along to keep them company, but she had fallen asleep against Negan's side. She looked so small compared to Negan’s athletic build.

There had been a day a couple months ago, as far as Daryl could tell, when Rick and Negan got to talking out by the backyard fence. Rick asked how Lucille was doing, and though Negan still held on to his typical grin, Daryl could sense the strain in the air. Negan said  _ it  _ could come back, as it had done before. It wouldn't be for a few years until they could see if she was truly ‘cancer-free.’

Rick would talk to Daryl from time to time when there was no one in the house, explaining people to him. He explained that Lucille had been very sick, and was still weak. How she was building up her strength, yet looked  _ miles  _ better than just six months ago. Rick also talked about how Negan tried to cover up the fear and depression Lucille’s illness had engendered.

How Rick could sometimes smell the alcohol on Negan’s breath.

Ever since then, Daryl had been cautious. He had never had a good experience with a drunk, and the incident with Shane had only solidified his belief that alcohol was bad news. His father tended to use the belt more often than anything else when he drank too much of the clear stuff from the mason jars he kept out in the shed. Those were the times that Pa made sure to sink the metal buckle of his belt into Daryl’s flesh instead of just the strap, making it hurt that much worse.

Darting a quick look over at Negan, who was quietly reading, a pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose, Daryl doubted that Negan was a drunk like Pa. At least not anymore. Rick hated drunks, and wouldn't hesitate to arrest someone that was ‘intoxicated.’

Glancing at the other people in the room, Daryl let out a huff. They were different people each day. Only rarely did he see someone twice, and if he did, it was only for a few minutes before they were called back to wherever they were keeping Rick. There were kids, old people, and everything in between… Of course no dogs. No animals were allowed.

Whenever a nurse wandered into the waiting room, Daryl would perk up and lift his head. Maybe the nurse would talk to them about Rick. But so far, they’d just kept walking over to someone else.

When Daryl heard the telltale squeak of boots on the tile, he squirmed up into a proper sitting position, and Shane poked in his head into the room.

Tensing, Daryl dropped back down into his chair.

“Rick might be up for a visit,” Shane said, his eyes gleaming. “Not set in stone, but Doc says it looks like he's finally on the mend, and out of danger.”

Daryl uncurled himself from the chair, and tentatively asked, “Me?”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, man. They’re gonna move him to another room real quick, though. He doesn't need such close monitoring anymore, so that means he can get whatever visitors want to come.”

Unable to curb the grin that spread across his face, Daryl stood up and started pacing. If he’d been shifted, he’d be running around the room in excited circles, jumping up on Negan, Lucille, and even Shane. He paused. “How long?”

Shrugging, Shane said, “Maybe half an hour or so to get him settled. You know how hospitals are.”

Daryl tilted his head. No, he really didn’t know, but he couldn’t say that to Shane. Rick’s partner was only just starting to trust Daryl a bit more. As Daryl, anyway. He’d come over to Rick’s house a couple of times to visit with Blue, always bringing some sort of treat like he was apologizing for kicking him.

Daryl had already forgiven him, since he knew Shane wasn't bad. The alcohol made him that way.

He thought Shane was using him as a sort of therapist, too. He’d done that even before Rick got shot, too, though it wasn’t anywhere near often enough to be a normal thing for Daryl. And it only happened if Rick was outside the patrol car or in another room. Shane talked about things Daryl was sure he’d never say to any person out loud. How he was worried about Rick, and how he was starting to get tired of what he called, “living up to his reputation”, whatever that meant.

So, Daryl just nodded, and continued pacing around the room. Negan watched him with a little smirk on his face, and said, “Lookin’ forward to seeing your Master?”

Shane’s head whipped around. “Master? What the fuck? Is Rick into kinky shit now?”

Dropping his eyes to the floor, Daryl didn’t say anything.

“It’s just a joke, Shane. Me fucking with Daryl.” Negan looked at him with those dark eyes, and grinned. “Right, Daryl?”

“Yeah. Right.”

A distinct awkwardness hung over the room like a thundercloud after that, though Daryl couldn't begin to understand why. Was ‘kink’ a bad thing? It sounded like the noise a chain would make against another chain. 

Shane narrowed his eyes at Daryl for what felt like an eternity, making him tense up yet again, then just shook his head. He crossed the room and sat down a chair away from Negan, leaving Daryl the only one standing. And pacing. Still pacing. Had to make sure he behaved or they might throw him out, but he couldn’t sit still. He just couldn’t.

Daryl  _ needed  _ to see Rick.

Negan kept reading whatever magazine he’d got a hold of, arm wrapped around Lucille as she snored quietly into his side, but Shane's gaze stayed on Daryl. On Daryl's ninth lap around the room Shane groaned loudly. 

“Jesus, dude, what's  _ wrong  _ with you? Not take your meds or some shit?”

That was a weird thing to say. Daryl had gotten all of his shots. Hershel made sure. He paused in his pacing to stare back at Shane, head tilted slightly, waiting for him to explain, but before he could, Negan pushed his way into the conversation with a low growl.

“Shane, what the shit? Rick would tear you a new asshole out if he heard you talking to him like that! And I might just step in for him!” Negan scolded in a voice that made Daryl cringe. Even though Negan wasn't talking to him directly, that tone was one he could never forget.

Trying and failing to bite back a whine, Daryl found the closest chair and curled into it, trying to anchor himself into the fabric, and disappear. But even though he’d stopped moving, Shane didn't seem appeased.

“How are you not sick of that shit? I don't know  _ where  _ you or Rick scraped him up, but go put him back!”

Negan’s teeth ground together, and his eyes turned glacial as he narrowed them on Shane. “You better shut your mouth, Sunshine,” he said. “That's my friend. Rick's friend, too.”

Their voices were only going to get louder, and Daryl curled deeper into the chair. No. Make the fighting stop. He didn't like fighting. Fighting got people hurt. Got the belt out. The strap. Make it  _ stop! _

“He's a goddamn retard! He can barely walk straight! He's probably so fucked up in the head, he couldn't tell me what he had for breakfast!”

“You take that shit back! I got half a mind to beat your damn head in!”

Daryl buried his head in his arms. Make it stop, make it stop,  _ make it stop! _

“Fuck you, Negan! He’s probably just a thorn in Rick’s side! Send him to a damn asylum!”

“He's a better man than you’ll  _ ever  _ be! You have no fucking idea what he's been through!”

“No fucking wonder I didn't know he existed,” Shane scoffed. “Even the  _ Dixons  _ are ashamed of him!”

_ Stop, stop, stop, stop! _

“I swear to Christ, Negan, if he does  _ anything  _ to Rick, I'll-”

Daryl didn't feel it happen. Didn't mean for it to happen. All he knew was that he wanted them to stop fighting. If they didn't like Daryl, maybe they'd like Blue.

Dead silence echoed in his head as he burrowed his body into the clothes now hanging off his much smaller form, trying to hide within the fabric, once again hoping he’d disappear. But he could feel the stares. He always could.

Daryl had already accepted it. He wasn't wanted. Blue was. He would just be Blue. Stop all the fighting about Daryl.

He heard Shane wheeze when he’d probably intended to talk, and someone stood up from their chair. They were walking towards him. Was he going to be beaten? Because he caused the fighting?

Bracing his body for the hit, Daryl was surprised when all he felt was a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

“Hey, it’s alright. No one’s gonna hurt you,” Negan said, his hand moving across Daryl’s head and neck. “Let’s get these clothes off of you, huh? You’ll be more comfortable.”

Daryl lifted his head, and pressed his muzzle against Negan’s chest, a low whine slipping out.

Removing the now baggy clothes, Negan tossed them to Lucille, and settled himself on the floor, holding his arms out. Daryl hopped down from the chair and curled himself up in Negan’s lap as best he could, making sure he was facing away from Shane. He trusted Negan to protect him from the other man.

“You see what you did?” Lucille said, her voice soft. “Big man, getting off on making other people feel small. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“You’re lucky I’m occupied with other things right now, but we’ll be having a conversation sometime in the near future. Bet on it.” Negan’s voice was still cold, but his hands were gentle as they stroked rhythmically down Daryl’s back, and sides.

“What the hell just happened?” Shane breathed.

Negan’s body tightened, prompting Daryl to let out another tremulous whine until it relaxed again. “Easy there, tiger, nothing's gonna happen. No more fighting. Right,  _ Shane?" _

Opening one eye, Daryl turned his head a little and looked at Shane. The man’s eyes were wide, and locked onto Daryl, as he almost fell into the chair behind him. “I heard stories,” he said, blinking owlishly, “But I never believed them. I guess that one about Rick’s grandfather was true, huh?”

“Yeah, they’re true,” Negan huffed, before looking down at Daryl. “You care if I tell him?”

Daryl gave what he thought was the dog equivalent of a shrug, and Negan chuckled.

“Daryl has been stuck, for lack of a better word. No one ever told him how to do any of this. He never knew it was coming. One second he was eleven years old, and human, the next second, he was… not.”

Shane’s eyes got even wider. 

“His dad was an asshole, I’m sure we’ve all gathered that. Daryl hasn’t explicitly told me, but I think his dad was beating the shit out of him when it happened. Or something like that. It was the catalyst for it, for sure.”

“How long?”

“You got me. I don’t even know how old he is. In his early to mid-thirties, I think. So, do some fuckin’ math. Does it matter? He was a goddamn dog for like twenty years. Fucking forgive him if walking around on two legs, and talking isn’t exactly the easiest thing for him to do.”

Negan was tense again, and Daryl whined, lifting up and rasping his long, pink tongue across Negan’s throat in an attempt to calm him.

“Alright, alright,” Negan said, pushing Daryl’s muzzle away. “Quit with the tongue bath, and I’ll try and stay calm. He’s sort of an asshole though. Hard to control myself.” He smirked at Daryl, and gave him a rough scratch behind the ear.

The scratching prompted a small tail wag, but it stilled moments after. It was still so tense in the room. Especially now that Daryl realized at any moment a nurse could come in, or someone could be listening.

What Negan said was still running through his head. Poked and prodded, trying to figure him out… Daryl didn't want that. He just wanted Rick.

Closing his eyes again, Daryl buried his snout in the crook of Negan’s arm, his breathing strained. They were still going to fight. Daryl just knew it.

He heard hesitant footsteps walking closer, before they finally stopped inches away.

“Holy shit. He's… He's  _ Blue?  _ All this fucking time?!”

“Nice deduction, Sherlock. You figure that out all on your own? What gave it away? The fur, or the tail?” Negan drawled, sinking his fingers into the thick fur around Daryl’s neck.

“I wanted him put to sleep,” Shane said, his voice strained. “I told Rick to send him away. To get rid of him. I got drunk and ki-”

Negan’s eyes narrowed, but when Shane clammed up completely, he seemed to let it go. He scoffed, and scratched at one of the places he knew Daryl liked best, underneath his muzzle. “Lucky for you, Rick has a brain in his head. He could tell there was something special about our boy Blue.”

“I… Shit.” Shane buried his face in his hands, and exhaled loudly. Scrubbing a hand across his head, he looked back over at Daryl. “If I’d known…”

Looking over at Shane, Daryl huffed. He looked like someone had just told him Santa was dead. Pulling himself to his feet, he walked over and sat down in front of the other man, looking at him intently. Nudging at Shane’s loosely curled hands, Daryl whined.

“Shit, man…” Shane breathed, and there was a small tremor to his hands. No doubt he was shaken by this revelation. But that didn't make Daryl feel any better. Even if he wasn't exactly sure what half the things Shane said had even meant, he knew variations of them had been spat at him in the past by Pa. So it couldn't be anything good.

Finally, Shane reached out and ran his hand down Daryl’s back, stroking him slowly. His fingers paused as they ran over old scars, and his face paled as he realized their origin. Those beatings were imprinted on Daryl’s body, and even though his fur tried to hide the marks, Daryl still felt them.

“I'm sorry, shit. If I'd known  _ any  _ of that…” Shane trailed off, and forced his hand to continue brushing through Daryl’s fur. “I-I didn't know that shit even  _ existed.” _

Daryl snorted softly. No one did. Except apparently Rick and Negan. And Lucille. And probably tons of other people. Maybe. He hoped.

Assuming that Shane would take that as some sort of forgiveness, Blue stood up and returned to Negan. He carefully picked his way back into the man’s lap and curled up, resting his head on Negan’s thigh.

“Wait,” Shane said, his brow furrowing in deep thought. “Rick knows about this? Or was he still stuck? Is he gonna just go back to being Blue forever again?”

Negan shook his head, and sighed, digging his fingers into Daryl’s fur again. “He doesn’t know.” Negan looked down at Daryl with a small frown. “We haven’t talked about any of this shit. We were kinda focused on Rick being here, and getting in to see him. He’s important to Daryl. More than anyone else has been, I think.”

Flicking an ear towards the door, Daryl tensed, and jumped up from Negan’s lap. Someone was coming. He looked up at Negan and whined. 

“Uh, shit, go around behind that table. I’ll get Lucille’s jacket and sort of drape over it, and hope they don’t see you,” Negan said, pointing at a table in the far corner of the room.

Ducking under it, Daryl made himself as small as possible.

The door to the waiting room opened, and a nurse stuck her head in. “Mr. Grimes has been moved down to the second floor. Room 256, if you’d like to go see him.”

“Thanks, Julie,” Shane grinned, jumping up and patting the nurse on the shoulder. “Thanks for taking such good care of him, too.”

“That’s my job,” Julie said, her cheeks reddening. “You don’t forget to give me a call, now.” She looked at Shane through her lashes, and then was out the door.

Negan stared at Shane in disbelief. “Really, dude? While your best friend was possibly dying?”

“He was much better at that point,” Shane defended, frowning at Negan. “Besides, all I did was ask for her number. Not like I fucked her in a closet. Unlike  _ you two.” _

“Not everyday you get the news that your wife is cancer free.” Negan hooked an arm around Lucille’s waist, and gave her a kiss on the temple. “We were celebrating.”

Shane huffed under his breath but didn’t reply. Instead he had his eyes on Daryl, who was still crouched under the table. “Okay, so now what do we do. Can we sneak him to the bathroom to change or something? Uh,” Shane took a moment to look out the door, looking for nurses. “Think it's clear,” he said, glancing back at Daryl's direction. “If we go now-”

Daryl was already carefully picking up his clothes from the seat right beside Lucille, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to find the tags. Negan taught him that the tags stayed in the back. He figured out the shirt first, and started pulling it over his head. When he finally had it on properly, he glanced back up at Shane. The other man’s face had gone completely red.

Daryl tilted his head. “What?”

“Wow, uh, not shy apparently,” Shane laughed, his eyes skimming Daryl’s bare lower half.

“You have no idea,” Negan snickered. “I found him in the backyard yesterday, middle of the day, naked as shit, and running in the sprinklers.”

At Shane’s laugh, Daryl turned, and scowled at him. “Cool. Felt good. Fuck you.”

The two men just laughed harder, and Negan grinned. “Aww, he said fuck! Our boy is picking up new words every day!”

Daryl paused in drawing the pants up his legs, and growled. “Not yours. Rick’s.”

Still grinning, Negan just waved his hand. “We’re fostering you until you get back home. You're our boy until then.”

Daryl just growled lowly and stared down at his pants. They were tighter than he cared for. Rick was smaller than he was, at least in the shoulders and hips. Maybe it was all the running he did. Finally Daryl managed to pop the buttons into place and then started with the socks and the shoes.

This had to be the most annoying part. He felt like his movements were even more clunky because of the boots he wore. It was pure luck that there had been a pair in Rick’s closet that even came close to fitting him. 

Once he’d dressed, all while ignoring the remarks across the room, Daryl walked over to Negan and grabbed his arm for support. “Rick. Now.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Negan grumped, leading Daryl out of the room. “Wanna try the elevator this time, or are we going with the stairs again?”

Daryl shuddered, remembering the small box he and Negan had gotten into on their third day at the hospital, and said firmly, “Stairs.”

Walking down two flights to the second floor, Negan looked at some signs on the wall, then pointed to the left. Daryl wrinkled his nose. It smelled worse here that it had in the waiting room upstairs. He said as much to Negan, and the older man chuckled.

“Up there, the ward was down the hallway, and behind another set of doors. All the smells were confined, I guess. All these doors,” Negan gestured at the doors they were passing, some open and some not. “They all have people in them. Well, most of them. No barrier.”

“Stinks,” Daryl growled, looking behind them at Shane and Lucille. “Stinks to you?"

Shane shrugged one shoulder and said, “I dunno. Smells like a hospital. Not great, but not  _ bad.” _

“I’m not a big fan of hospitals. Spent too much time in them lately,” Lucille said, her voice soft.

Negan slowed down to let Lucille catch up to them, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Never again, baby. We got you better, and you’re gonna stay that way.”

“I love you, too, you big sap.”

Shane snorted. “Negan? A sap? You must be on some good drugs calling this foul mouthed fucker a sap.”

Lucille smiled smugly. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you.”

Even Daryl snickered at that, his hand still grasping at Negan’s bicep to keep himself steady. He liked Lucille. She wasn't afraid to say what was on her mind, and she’d managed to tame Negan, too. At least when she was around.

Daryl tried his best to read the numbers on the door, but it had been years since he’d had to. Everything had been verbal code with Morgan. Same with Rick and the voice that came out of the radio thing. All he could do was hope Negan or someone was paying attention.

When Negan jerked his head to the side, Daryl felt his heart leap into his throat. 

He wasn't ready.

He wasn't ready to see what happened to Rick.

He could have lost his arm.

Were there pieces of him missing?

Daryl's mind spun with his sudden fear, and his fingers dug into Negan’s arm so hard the other man winced.

“Easy, pup, I like having my arms attached,” Negan grunted, and Daryl whined, but loosened his grip. “It's gonna be fine. He's out of the ICU. He's getting better.”

He swallowed, trying to push down his fears. He stared at the door that Negan was leading them towards, and braced himself.

Rick was laying in the bed, swathed in bandages. Daryl immediately took a deep breath, trying to find Rick’s scent beneath the heavy layers of antiseptic, and whatever chemicals they used to keep everything clean.

Unable to find it, Daryl whined again, and lurched forward, falling to his knees at the edge of the bed. He nosed at Rick’s lax hand, hoping with everything he had that it would start to move. Rest itself on the back of Daryl’s neck, and comb through his hair. But it just lay still.

Whining again, louder, Daryl pressed his face harder against Rick’s hand, maneuvering until it was cupping his cheek. He snuffled softly around Rick’s fingers, and, going completely on instinct, gave them a few soft licks before settling down.

“Rick,” he sighed heavily. 

Despite the wrong smells, and the feel of three pairs of eyes on his back, Daryl felt better than he had in days. He was by Rick’s side. Where he belonged. 


	15. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days are getting longer, and Rick still won't wake up. It's time Daryl takes matters into his own hands. Paws. Either way.

Negan would  _ never  _ get used to mornings like this. He didn't want to.

Gone were the mornings of waking up to the alarm clock at ungodly hours to get the school gym opened up for scrawny high schoolers. Gone were the nights where sleep was a fantasy, either from physical pain, looming nightmares, or the fear that Lucille would be gone when he woke.

Instead, it was a single sliver of sun sneaking through the crack of the thick curtains, and feeling  little stirrings within his arms as his wife woke beside him, soft threads of consciousness just starting to poke at their bodies.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled with a hum of pleasure. Lucille always smelled amazing. Even after all the treatments, the chemo and the radiation, it was one of the physical things that stayed the same.

God, he loved this woman. He really,  _ really _ didn’t deserve her.

His hands clenched momentarily around her slim hips before he ran his fingers up and down her side. She shifted, then tucked herself deeper into his embrace, searching for sleep again. His Lucille always did detest mornings.

They had both been at Rick’s late last night, keeping an eye on a pacing Daryl. The moment that they’d returned home, after having to literally drag him from the hospital, Daryl had become unruly, almost aggressive.  _ “Rick,”  _ he constantly snarled at them, pointing at the door. It seemed he had yet to grasp the concept of visiting hours.

It had taken them until the early hours of the morning to run him ragged enough to sleep. It seemed that the military athletics had yet to drain out of Daryl's body, making Negan wonder just how long it had been since he had been in combat.

Negan finally removed his arms from around Lucille and sat up in their bed. Since he was awake, he might as well check on Daryl. The last thing he needed was a pissed off Blue ripping the house to shreds because they wouldn't drive him back to the hospital immediately.

Lucille mumbled sleepily when he stood up. After assuring her that he’d only be gone for a few minutes, Negan tugged on some clothes, and left the bedroom.

Opening the front door, he turned and looked behind him, seeing Coco heading for the open door. “Mornin’ princess,” Negan smiled, rubbing the white ball of fluff’s stomach when she rolled over, and panted up at him.

Coco stared at him from the porch as he left. She hated going outside in the mornings. Didn’t like getting her fur wet. She’d been known to outright refuse to go outside at all, and just leave them little ‘presents’ on the carpet.

Negan rapped briskly on Rick’s door before opening it, and sticking his head inside. “Daryl? You awake?”

There was a muffled grunt from the living room, and Negan took that as permission to walk inside. He found Daryl curled up on the sofa, some sort of notebook open across his lap.

“Whatcha got there?”

Daryl looked up at him, and Negan winced. There were dark circles under his eyes, and an almost dazed expression on his face. 

“Rick’s book,” Daryl said, running his fingers across a page. “Rick and Blue.”

Sitting down beside Daryl, Negan leaned over and got his first good look. It was a sketchbook, and as Daryl turned the pages, he saw that they were filled with drawings. Some included Rick, and there was even one or two with Negan himself in them.

Daryl tapped at a drawing of a laughing dark haired woman, with her arm wrapped around a cute, chubby blonde. “Tara. Denise.”

Flipping another page, he pointed at a picture of Negan holding Coco, and grinning slyly up at Lucille, who was standing on their porch. Daryl pointed at Coco, and snickered. “Eat her up. One bite.”

“Hey! Don’t be ragging on my little princess!” Negan scowled. “She’s an awesome dog. So what if she’s small and fluffy. She loves me.”

Daryl rolled his eyes, and continued flipping the pages. “Carl,” he grinned, and they both looked at a drawing of Rick with his son sitting on his shoulders. Carl was wearing Rick’s hat, and had his arms out to the sides like he was flying. Lori was in the background, smiling widely at the two of them.

Everyone Rick knew was represented in this book. Carol, and Sophia, cuddling up under a blanket with cups of hot chocolate in their hands. Shane, his grin almost blinding as he hung out of the window of his and Rick’s cruiser. Everyone he worked with down at the station, people Negan didn’t even know, but he felt like he did after he looked at Rick’s drawings.

“Michonne,” Daryl said, smiling softly. She was leaning against a wall, her eyes looking to the side, and a small half smile lingered on her lips. 

Pointing at a the long sword Rick had drawn in the background Daryl said, “Katana. Showed me when everyone was busy.”

He flipped more pages, and Negan saw Maggie, Hershel’s daughter, and her boyfriend Glenn. Amy, the girl who worked at Carol’s bakery, and Amy’s sister, Andrea. Two people who had to be Rick’s parents, judging by the curls on the man, and the strikingly blue eyes on the woman, and two more who had to be Lori’s.

“Fucking hell,” Negan whispered. “I had no idea Rick could do shit like this.” 

Daryl flipped another page, and sighed, his fingers dragging along a sketch of Rick and Blue. They were sitting on the porch. Blue’s front paws dangling off the first step, and his head was resting on Rick’s lap. Rick’s hand was pointing at something in the distance, his eyes looking down at Blue, and Blue’s ears were quirked curiously.

Closing the sketchbook, Daryl shifted a bit closer into Negan’s side. “Miss Rick. Want him back.”

Negan rested his hand on Daryl's shoulder and gave it a gentle rub. “I know, buddy. He's gonna be back, though. I promise. We just gotta be patient and let him heal up.”

Daryl grunted and continued to stare down at the sketchbook resting in his hands. Taking a quick glance, Negan saw that there was a pile sitting right by his feet. While curiosity had him near begging to flip through some more, he managed to hold himself back.

Grabbing at the blanket thrown over the top of the couch, Negan tossed it over Daryl’s lap. “You keep running around naked all the time, you’re going to catch cold. Have to keep you healthy, or Rick will shoot me in the ass.” Negan smirked and nudged Daryl’s shoulder. “My ass is too fine to be ruined by a bullet hole.” 

Glancing over his shoulder to the clock on the wall, Negan cleared his throat. “We can go visit Rick in a few hours. How about I get you fed and-”

Daryl burrowed down into the blanket. “Not hungry. Tired.”

Negan frowned and looked back at Daryl, who was still staring down at the sketchbook. “You have to eat something. How about I leave something in your dish? I can come over later and cook you some real food,” he offered, but Daryl didn't look up at him, only shrugged.

Sighing loudly, Negan pulled himself up to his feet and stretched. “How ‘bout I come back in an hour or two. Give you some time to nap, okay?” Negan was positive that Daryl hadn’t slept well in the last few days, and it was starting to take its toll.

Again, Daryl said nothing. He just opened the sketchbook again and started to flip through some pages, lingering on some, until he curled himself up in his blanket and rested his head on the pillows laid out on the couch. Hoping this was a sign that Daryl would get some much needed rest, Negan gave him one last pat on the shoulder and stepped out the front door.

* * *

It took some tempting, but Negan actually got Coco to go out on the lawn. It just took some… God, he couldn't believe he actually did this, but little booties. Tiny socks over her tiny paws so she wouldn't get her tiny feet wet.

Maybe he should have gotten a bigger dog like he’d wanted in the first place. He smiled fondly at Coco. No, he couldn't part with his Coco. She’d definitely grown on him.

After that experience, Negan made breakfast for himself and Lucille, who had gotten up thankfully  _ after _ the whole bootie mess. He then spent a couple hours in his workshop. 

When he’d retired from teaching-he really wasn’t suited to be a teacher, not even a gym teacher-he’d talked to Lucille about maybe starting up his own woodworking business. It was something he’d done on the side for years, and people were always asking about custom pieces. Lucille had thought about it for all of two seconds before giving him an enthusiastic yes, and Negan hadn’t looked back. 

He enjoyed what he did, and he made a hell of a lot more money than he’d ever made teaching. It had been a little unsteady at first. About a month after he’d started his shop, Lucille had been diagnosed. She had to start missing nursing shifts in the ICU for treatment; something Negan guessed was more painful than the treatments themselves.

There were some struggles. He went off the rails a couple of times, did some stupid things. There were times Lucille's insurance refused to pay the bills, a couple of weeks where they ate nothing but ramen noodles, and Negan had been on the brink of  _ begging _ for his job back, but slowly more and more people came to him for his work. He aimed to please, even with the little things, and his customers could tell. Whether it was furniture or just random knick knacks, Negan worked his ass off, and after those few months of struggling, business was booming.  

After inspiration eluded him, Negan hung up the gloves and safety goggles to make a small meal for Daryl. No doubt he would be hungry. Daryl still seemed to like eating his dog food, so Negan threw together a bit of a compromise: a sandwich of wet dog food but with some toppings and fries on the side. 

Negan whistled the entire way to Rick’s front door, reminding himself to water Rick’s yard the next time he had the chance. He knocked twice on the door and didn't hesitate to open it and stick his head inside.

“Got you a little something,” he called, not expecting much of an answer, and not getting one in return. Maybe Daryl was actually asleep? Moving quietly to try not to disturb him just in case, he passed the living room without a glance and set the plate on the table.

Just for his own curiosity, he peeked inside Rick’s fridge and shuddered. Nothing worth mentioning. Some condiments and expired milk. Negan grumbled to himself as he shut the door.

“You awake?” he asked, his voice a normal pitch as if he was talking to Daryl in the same room. No answer. Negan let out a sigh of relief. Finally Daryl had given in to his body's demands.

He strolled out of the kitchen with a grin and looked down to the living room couch, to find…

Nothing.

He stopped short. So Daryl was somewhere else. Maybe he was back in Rick's room? Now frowning, Negan crossed the house and peeked inside the crack in the doorway.

Daryl wasn't there either.

“Shit. Daryl!” He gave up on trying to be considerate. If Daryl wasn’t here… Fuck. When Rick got better it was highly likely that he’d get shot if anything had happened to Blue-Daryl,  _ whatever- _ on his watch.

Moving methodically through all of the rooms, Negan cursed. Daryl wasn’t here. 

To say Lucille was startled when Negan barreled into their front door a minute later was putting it lightly. “What the fuck, Negan! You’re gonna give me a goddamn heart attack, you fuck!”

Negan rumbled lowly. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but there was a foul mouth buried in Lucille’s petite body. It was one of the many reasons he loved her so much.

“Quit sweet talkin’ me, baby, we’ve got a problem that can’t be solved with my dick.”

Lucille, still panting, lowered her hand from her chest and frowned. “What’s wrong? Your dick could bring about peace in the middle east, last I heard from you.”

“Daryl is gone. I looked through the whole fucking house, and he’s just… Fuckin’ poof! Gone!”

“Shit.”

Negan nodded, his eyes wide. “Yes.”

“I don’t want Rick to shoot you with that big ass gun of his.”

“I don’t want-Hey! Why would he just shoot me? Why not you, too?”

Lucille batted her eyelashes at him. “I’m too cute to shoot.”

“I happen to agree, but could we get back on the fucking subject here? Missing dog slash human? Wandering around the town by himself? Getting into trouble? Fucking naked, probably! Use that big med school brain of yours and figure something the fuck out!”

“He won’t be naked.”

“Why not? Daryl hates fucking clothes.”

Lucille looked at him like he was the dumb kid in class. “If he went somewhere, he went as Blue, obviously. He was on his own for how long? I think he’ll be okay, but let’s go look for him, just in case.”

“Done. Let’s go.”

* * *

After over an hour of searching, they’d still had no luck. Negan was starting to get worried. He’d even gone to Carol’s bakery and asked if she’d seen him. He’d gotten a no, a glare so potent he felt like his dick shriveled a little bit, and an order to find that dog,  _ or else. _

Tugging at his hair, he groaned. “I swear to God, he better be fucking somewhere in this town. What if he couldn’t handle the stress and shit of being human? What if he just bailed?”

Lucille reached over, and twined their fingers together. “He wouldn’t do that. He loves Rick, he’d never abandon him, especially when he’s injured.”

“Then where the  _ fuck _ is the little asshole?”

His pocket started vibrating, and Negan reached in and grabbed his phone.  _ “What!” _ he growled.

_ “Uh, fuck you too, dickhead.” _

“Shane? I’m sorta busy right now, I can’t fucking talk, okay?”

_ “Whatever you got going on you’re going to have to put on hold. Daryl, I mean,  _ Blue _ , showed up at the hospital. Don’t ask me how he got past everyone, but he did. He’s kinda… He’s freaking everyone out, man, can you get down here?” _

“The fucking hospital. I  _ am _ the dumb kid in class,  _ fuck. _ ” Negan glanced over at Lucille, and shook his head. “We’re on our way.”

Breaking every single traffic law that their town had, and a few that probably hadn’t been invented yet, Negan and Lucille made it to the hospital in five minutes. Practically dragging Lucille down the hallway, they made their way to room 256.

A crowd had gathered at that point, making Negan’s heart drop in his chest. He didn't even need to be in the room yet to hear the beastly growling echoing out.

Pushing his way past doctors and nurses, Negan finally got a look into the room.

Shane was standing on the far side of the room, face pale and eyes wide. He would try to speak, only for the growling to turn louder. That growling was coming from Blue, who was standing on top of the bed, shielding Rick from anyone's grasp.

And damn, did he look terrifying.

It was like some hellhound had broken loose. Blue’s hackles were raised, and he was  _ foaming _ at the mouth and snapping his jaws at whoever came too close. Something had snapped within Daryl in those few hours he had been alone.

“Fucking do something!” Shane hissed through gritted teeth, only for Daryl to snarl at him in response. Wincing, he dropped his voice to a strained whisper. “He almost fucking bit a nurse! Animal control isn't gonna give a shit  _ what  _ he is if we don't get him calmed down!”

Glancing back to the nurses and doctors in the room, he tried not to curse too loudly. “Get in the hall,” he grunted, narrowing his eyes back at the others.

Thankfully, they didn't seem too upset to being ordered to leave, and most scrambled out without a second thought. It was only when the last stranger left that Lucille shut the door and Negan could finally turn his attention back to Daryl.

“Daryl,” Negan started, holding his hands out in front of him, “Daryl, you need to calm down, dude.”

Responding with another low growl, Daryl glared at Negan, and a small line of drool dripped down from his muzzle.

“C’mon, man, you need to relax. You can’t be up there. You’re gonna hurt Rick if you keep walking around on top of him. I don’t know what happened, and we won’t come any closer, but you need to get off the bed.”

Daryl’s growling softened for a moment, and he looked down at Rick’s prone body. But he only seemed to become that much angrier, standing on the foot of the bed and snarling once more. 

“Daryl, get down from the fucking bed. I swear we won’t come over there.” Negan glanced around to Shane and Lucille. “Right? We’ll stay right where we are. Tell him.”

“Yeah, man, I’m not coming anywhere near you when you’re looking like that,” Shane mumbled, barely able to even look at Daryl.

“I’m staying behind Negan. I promise, Daryl. I won’t come any closer, and I won’t let anyone else come into the room either.”

“See?” Negan coaxed, lowering himself towards the floor. “We’re all gonna stay right where we are, and Lucy is gonna watch the door. C’mon down now.”

His growls finally stopping altogether, Daryl let out a short whine. He carefully picked his way across Rick’s bed, and hopped to the floor, ensuring he was still between Rick and the rest of the room.

“That’s good, good boy, Daryl,” Negan soothed. “How about you change back now, huh? Maybe tell us what happened? Nothing will change. We’ll all stay right where we’re at.”

Shane and Lucille nodded from their spots on the floor.

Daryl shifted uneasily, and whined louder, small tremors running through his body.

“It’s alright, man. No one here is gonna hurt you, or Rick. He’s our friend, remember?”

There was a sharp clicking noise, and suddenly instead of Blue, Daryl was sitting on the floor, his arms curled around his legs.

“There you go, I’m gonna come over there now, okay? I need you to talk to me,” Negan said, creeping forward slowly on his hands and knees. “You got me kneeling for you, Daryl. That’s never happened before when I had all my clothes on.”

Daryl tilted his head, a confused frown on his face. “What?”

“Nevermind,” Negan chuckled, and wrapped an arm around Daryl’s quivering shoulders. “Just too much fucking tension in this room. Felt like someone was about to take a big shit on all of us.”

Daryl grunted, and leaned his head against Negan’s chest.

“What happened, Daryl? Why’d you go all Cujo?”

“Said they were gonna take Rick. Took Morgan, and never saw him again ever. No taking Rick. Stopped them.” Daryl’s words were mumbled into Negan’s chest, and he carefully pulled Daryl closer.

“I don't think they were gonna take Rick away forever,” Negan soothed, even as questions burned the back of his throat. He had never heard Daryl mention a ‘Morgan.’ Then again, Daryl didn't mention anyone but Rick.

Daryl pushed himself in closer, reaching out and hooking his hands into Negan’s shirt. “Were gonna take him. Can't take him away. Can't lose Rick.”

Negan cast a glance over his shoulder to the closed door of the room, frowning. Chances were high that it wasn't for something major, perhaps just to take him to a different room, run some tests… But Daryl wouldn't understand that. He didn't understand any of this.

“How'd you get in here, buddy?” Negan asked, continuing his investigation of the room. The windows were shut, there was only one way in… It wasn't like Daryl stayed overnight...

“Hid.”

“Where did you hide?”

“Bed.”

Ah, so the nurses probably didn't even see Daryl in the first place, and the moment they said something he didn't like…

“Okay. I get you were scared they were gonna take Rick away, but it’s not gonna happen. No one here would let Rick get hurt if they could help it. Right, gang?”

Lucille and Shane both nodded, and Daryl sighed. He looked up at Negan with tired eyes. “Know here,” he said, tapping at his head. “Not here.” Daryl lay his hand across his chest.

“That is a universal problem, bud. Gonna have to get used to that,” Negan grinned, tugging Daryl closer, and rubbing affectionately across his messy hair.

Daryl whined again, closing his eyes and curling into Negan’s chest as much as he could. It left Negan only guessing at what was going through his head. Probably fear. Endless scenarios of what could happen the moment that Daryl turned his back.

“Wanna stay,” Daryl mumbled, his voice so miserable that it made Negan’s own heart ache. “No make Daryl leave. Wanna stay.”

Negan sighed softly, running his fingers through Daryl's unruly hair. “I know, buddy. But you can't stay all day. And you can't sneak in here, either.” Squinting down at Daryl, he added, “You didn't answer me how you managed that.”

The man huddled to his chest just shrugged. “Came. Walk.” Daryl reached out from between Negan's arms and pointed to the clothes that had been shoved crudely behind a chair. “Blue with Rick.”

Negan had to take a moment to process that. The fact that Daryl, the same man who has trouble putting on his shirt, actually went out in public.  _ Walked  _ to the hospital. Got inside, somehow managed to check in as a guest because there was  _ no  _ way he could sneak in while still human, and stayed with Rick long enough to shift and hide his clothes.

“Well… don't do it again,” Negan said warily, reminding himself to lock the doors the next time he left Daryl alone. While Daryl knew how to open some locks, the ones on Rick’s outer doors were still a mystery to him.

“Let’s go walk down to the cafeteria. Get you some food.” Negan looked at Daryl critically. “I think you’ve lost some weight. Rick would be disappointed.”

“Here, Daryl,” Lucille smiled, carefully shifting across the floor and grabbing the now wrinkled clothing Daryl had stashed away. “Can you put these back on for me?”

Daryl glanced up, and gave Lucille a small smile before frowning at the clothes. “Hate clothes.”

Negan and Lucille chuckled, and Shane just continued to stare.

“We’re aware of that, dude,” Negan grinned, slapping a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “I think Lucille has seen you naked more often than me over the past few days.”

“So… he is your new third,” Shane mumbled to himself, his face beginning to flush. Lucille just giggled and placed the clothes in front of Negan, who was starting to juggle around Daryl. He was trying to find a way to make Daryl cooperate without absolutely pinning him down, but surprisingly, Daryl just grabbed at the shirt with a low grumble.

“Uh, how do we explain away the huge-ass dog?” Shane asked, glancing to the closed door as Daryl began dressing again. “Since we probably want to avoid a scene.”

“Now that is a good fucking question,” Negan said, his brow furrowing. “Anybody got any ideas?”

Lucille opened the door a crack, and peeked out. She was smiling when she looked back at Negan. “They all left. Probably when everything got quiet.”

“Okay, so if anyone asks, Blue was brought up for a visit. We snuck him in because he missed his buddy, Rick, and he didn’t take well to seeing Rick in a hospital bed. We got someone from the station to come get him. Took him out through the stairwell.” Negan looked at everyone. “Got it?”

Daryl had just gotten his pants pulled up when the door opened.

While Lucille talked to the nurse, Negan helped Daryl back up to his feet, though he didn't seem ready to leave. If anything, he migrated back to the bed, looking over at Rick with a soft whine.

“C’mon,” Negan said softly, grabbing onto Daryl's wrist.

Another whine, and Daryl reached out his other hand to Rick, who remained undisturbed. “Wanna stay,” he whimpered again.

“Let him rest. We'll be back tomorrow.”

With one more tug, Negan led Daryl away, painfully aware of the other man's struggling. All Negan could cling to was the hope that Rick would wake up soon, and all this waiting would be over.

But, Negan was also realistic. Life was not always sunshine and roses, and at some point, they had to face the fact that if Rick didn’t wake up soon, he might not wake up at all.


	16. Waiting Right Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl doesn't want to wait any longer. Thankfully, he doesn't have to.

It had been more than a full week since the near-fatal shot. Rick remained asleep, and trying to keep hopes high was becoming a struggle. When Daryl wasn't at the hospital anxiously waiting his turn or sitting with Rick, he was… well, doing what he was doing now.

Nothing.

Negan finding Daryl out in the backyard was no longer strange. Finding him fully clothed, though, was out of the ordinary. After getting back from the hospital, Daryl walked straight through the house, outside, then dropped onto the lawn like he had been shot. He had laid there ever since, staring at the grass, curled up and silent.

Daryl didn't want to move. Didn't feel like moving. The food Negan had him eat at the cafeteria that morning felt like years ago. His stomach rumbled at him, but he just couldn’t summon the energy to move and do something about it. Not that he understood all the little things in Rick’s kitchen anyway.

Letting out a long sigh, Daryl picked at a blade of grass. Rick. He still wasn't home, wasn’t even awake, after all this waiting. His  _ scent _ was fading. And all those medicines and chemicals in that damn hospital. Daryl’s nose itched just thinking about them.

His mind was plagued with the thought that Rick was never coming home. That he had once again failed to protect his master.

“Planning on staying out here all night?”

Daryl looked up at Negan and shrugged his shoulders. “Nice here. Better than inside.”

It  _ was _ better than inside. Walking around in a house that smelled more and more like  _ him _ and less and less like  _ them _ was almost killing Daryl. 

Negan settled himself on the ground next to Daryl, and looked up at the sky. “See that bright spot up there?” Negan pointed.

Daryl followed Negan’s finger and nodded. 

“That’s Mars. If you look a little bit lower, see the other bright spot? A little bit smaller than Mars. That’s Saturn.”

“Learned about planets. Long time ago,” Daryl sighed, his fingers fanning out and brushing at the too-long grass. “Forgot most.”

Negan shrugged. “You had more important things to think about.” Hesitating for a second, Negan continued. “Rick said you were a military dog for a while. How’d that happen?”

Shaking his head, Daryl glared at Negan. “Not talkin’ about that.”

Holding up his hands, Negan nodded. “Okay, dude, don’t talk about it. I’m not gonna push you. What can we talk about? You got a family, right? I think you mentioned a brother, once.”

“Brother. Merle.” Daryl looked at Negan and scowled a little. “Merle’s an asshole. Threw a wrench at Daryl.”

“What the fuck did he throw a wrench at you for?”

Daryl shook his head again. “Not at Daryl. At Blue. Stray.” He motioned to the still bright scars peeking out from the collar of his stretched shirt. “Hurt, dangerous.”

“He thought you were a dangerous dog. Because you were hurt?”

“Yes.” Daryl struggled to find the right words. He’d been listening to people talk around him for years, but it was different when he tried to do it himself. The words tangled up in his head, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to explain completely what he meant.

“Stray dogs. Mean. Scared. Hurt, so hurt others. To protect. To not hurt anymore.” Daryl looked up at Negan, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “Understand?”

Negan shrugged, but then nodded all the same. “I think I got you. You probably looked a little worse for wear,” he said, looking up to the sky again. “I'm guessing he's never seen you like that. I doubt he would’a thrown that at you.”

Daryl almost growled out to drop the subject, but then again, what was the harm? It wasn't like Merle knew he was alive. Maybe it was better off that way. Then he didn't have to worry about a fussy little brother hanging on his heels.

“Merle left before Blue,” he murmured, his eyes focused upon that one spot Negan had claimed was Saturn. What were the other planets? There was a tiny one. Pluto? Pluto was far away. Daryl wished he remembered more. If there had been anything he paid attention to at school, it had been science. How things worked. How animals worked, how their insides worked. It had fascinated him.

Maybe he’d wanted to be a doctor. It was hard to remember at this point. While Momma had been hurting, Daryl would try to help with bandaids and ice. Anything to stop her pain. Then… It stopped forever.

“Merle did the war. Just Pa left.”

“Where? Which one?”

“Desert one. Sand everywhere. Don’t remember name.”

“Iraq?”

That sounded familiar, so Daryl nodded. If it wasn’t the right one, it was close enough. “Merle left, Pa meaner. No Merle to protect Daryl anymore. Hit a lot. Ran away. Then Daryl wasn’t Daryl no more. Never went back.”

“Shit,” Negan sighed, leaning back on his hands. “How old were you?”

“Not sure.” Daryl thought about it. He’d been in the fourth grade. He remembered that because he’d been in the spelling bee. Won a ribbon and everything. Pa had called him a pussy when Daryl showed it to him. “Eleven? Dunno. Fourth grade.”

“Shit. You really weren't kidding,” Negan whistled, reaching over and patting Daryl on the head. Daryl just grumbled. He would much rather have someone scratch him than just pat, but oh well. He would take whatever attention he got.

“What about your mom? Not in the picture?”

Daryl flinched. Momma. He’d loved Momma. With everything he had.

“No picture. Pa hurt Momma too much.”

“She left? Why didn’t she take you with her?”

“Didn’t leave,” Daryl whispered, fingers digging into the soil underneath the grass, and thinking back to the day his whole life had changed. He could still smell the smoke. “Fire. Burned up.”

Reaching over, Negan threw his arm around Daryl’s shoulders, rubbing softly up and down. “You’ve had a pretty shitty life, man. But it’s all changed for the better now. Rick will get better, and Shane might be sort of an asshiole at times, but he’s a good guy. And me and Lucille will always be there for you.”

Tucking his head into Negan’s neck, Daryl took a deep breath. Negan smelled like cedar with a slight undertone of some kind of flowery scent. Lucille. “Miss Rick,” he breathed, finally closing his eyes.

“I know you do.” 

Negan leaned back, and Daryl looked up at him, mildly annoyed at being pulled away from the warmth of Negan’s body. 

“Shane texted me earlier. Said the doctors think Rick might come out of it soon. Something about brain waves, and heart rate, or some shit.”

Daryl nodded, and shifted himself closer to Negan, burying his face in the other man’s neck again, and sighing happily.

“Keep that shit up, and I’m gonna think you  _ like _ me, Daryl.”

“Do like you.”

Negan let out a husky chuckle.  _ “Like  _ like. You don’t know the difference?”

“No,” Daryl shrugged. “Like and like. Same.”

Whatever Negan was about to say was interrupted by the loud slam of what Daryl thought sounded like Negan’s screen door. He’d heard it so often, he didn’t think he’d mistake the squeak the hinges made when it opened onto the backyard.

Propping his chin on Negan’s shoulder, Daryl’s eyes widened. Lucille was running across the lawn without pants on. He growled, and his mouth turned down at the corners. He always got funny looks or told to go put clothes on if he did that, so why was it okay for her to do it?

Negan turned his head, and wheezed quietly. “What!? What the hell are you doing? The whole neighborhood is gonna be perving on your ass now, and that ass belongs to me!”

Lucille panted and held out the phone. “Rick is awake.”

* * *

The waiting room was unnaturally quiet. No one was talking. Daryl stared from his position in the corner, trying his best to sit normally on the couch as Negan was quietly demonstrating beside him.

He was an idiot for thinking that they would be welcomed into Rick's room immediately. No, it was just like when Rick was shot. The important people first. But then why were Lori and Carl still in the room?

They were on the other side, Shane and Lori sitting with Carl between them. Shane was desperately trying to make small talk, but Carl just squirmed in his chair. Daryl squirmed back.

Daryl wanted to be with Carl. He could see how upset Carl still was, how worried. Anyone would be if they had been greeted with the doctor throwing everyone out of Rick’s room, saying they needed more time to properly stabilize him. What was left to stabilize? Was this all a lie?

He whined softly, only to press both hands against his face. No, human noises. He wasn't Blue. He had to behave.

Staring down at his lap, he finally reached down and picked up the muffin Negan had gotten him from a big machine in another room. It wasn't one of Carol's muffins, he could already smell the difference, but it was still chocolate.

“Go ahead,” Negan prompted from beside him, not even bothering to look up from his book. Nodding to himself, Daryl ripped off the plastic Negan had been so kind to open for him. Negan said his ‘dexterity,’ whatever that was, was getting better.

As he pulled the muffin out, he heard someone break the silence across the room.

“Have you checked on him?” Daryl could hear Lori ask Shane quietly, looking at him with a worried expression. Daryl watched from beneath his bangs, tearing off bits of the muffin and eating. “If you explain it to the nurses, maybe you can bring him?”

Shane snorted out a laugh, before his face quickly smoothed, his eyes jumping across the room to land on Daryl. “Yeah, Blue isn’t gonna be allowed in here, but he’s fine. I checked on him a couple times, and Negan is making sure his day-to-day needs are taken care of.”

Lori frowned, and clenched her fingers in her lap. “Rick loves that dog so much, and I was reading that having pets helps speed up the healing process.” Pursing her lips, Lori said, “I’m going to call my friend Jackie. She works for the hospital. Maybe she can get me permission.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lori, I mean… What if Blue… Uh…” Shane rubbed his hand across his head, and looked at Daryl out of the corner of his eye. “I dunno, what if Blue slobbers on Rick or something. Gives him a dog virus.”

Daryl huffed, and glared at Shane. He might not know much about how and why he could shift into Blue, but he knew that he was much hardier than a normal dog. If he wasn’t, that bullet would’ve killed him like it killed Morgan.

Shaking off his morose thoughts, Daryl focused on his muffin, picking away at the paper. It came off in chunks, and by the time he was done, most of the muffin was in pieces, but he held up the scraps to Negan with a shy smile.

“Paper.”

The corner of Negan's mouth twitched with a smile, glancing to his scraps. “Paper,” Negan nodded, setting down his book and taking the scraps, tossing them into a bin. “Good job, pup.”

Daryl's smile got a little bigger, and that little tingle went through his body again. He was good. Daryl was good.

He was so absorbed in chewing away at his muffin, he didn’t notice Carl walking over, and perching next to him on the couch. “Who’re you? Do you know my dad?”

Gulping down a piece of muffin that seemed to be stuck in his throat, Daryl swung his head over to Negan, looking at him with wide, slightly panicked eyes. The other man met his gaze, but only shrugged. He'd have to do this on his own. Daryl took in a deep breath then finally met Carl's eyes.

“Yeah, know him. Me and Negan,” he said, trying to search for the words. Shane said something interesting before… “Uh, the third.”

Negan choked beside him, before expelling a few harsh coughs. “S-shit, sorry,” he wheezed, looking down to the ground. He waved his hand towards Daryl and Carl, which was strange. Was Negan sick? He wasn't coughing like this before.

Shrugging, Daryl looked back at Carl, who seemed just as confused. “Oh,” Carl mumbled, his brow furrowing, and reminding Daryl so much of Rick that it hurt. “Uh, what does that mean?”

What  _ did _ that mean? Daryl hadn't thought that through. “Daryl. Name’s Daryl,” he said, trying his best to divert Carl from his possible mistake. If only he could shift, then it would take nothing to distract Carl from all of this.

Carl looked like he needed a good game of fetch. Then maybe some wrestling around. Then a nice wet lick on the face. Was that a human thing?

His brow furrowing even more, and his head starting to tilt to the side, Carl opened his mouth to speak, but Negan beat him to it.

“Third base!” Negan blurted. “Daryl plays third base. On the baseball team. That’s how they met. Rick gave Daryl a ride to the v-doctor’s office when he got beaned on the head with a ball.”

“Cool,” Carl said, his eyes brightening. “Did you have to get stitches? I had to get stitches once. I cut my arm on a nail. It was really gross.”

Daryl nodded, and looked back at Negan. He knew what baseball was. Some of the guys on the base had played it when they weren’t working. Returning his attention to Carl, Daryl pointed to the scar right above his temple. “Got stitches there.”

Carl frowned again. “That doesn’t look like it’s from a baseball. It looks like the scar Uncle Shane has on his arm.”

“Not from baseball. Baseball didn’t need stitches.” Daryl pointed at his head again. “That did.”

“Oh. Okay, I guess.” Carl fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and looked back up at Daryl. “Did you know my dad can draw? Can you draw?”

Daryl smiled and nodded at Carl. “Good drawer. Drew me, you and everybody.”

“He’s supposed to teach me.” Carl’s face fell, and Daryl could see tears gathering in his eyes. “We were gonna start the day…”

Negan leaned over and ruffled Carl’s hair. “Your dad is gonna be fine. He’s tough, right?”

Carl nodded, and knuckled the tears out of his eyes. “Mr. Negan, after we get to see my dad, can you take me to his house? So I can see Blue? Shane said you were taking care of him.”   
  
“Sure thing, kid. Long as your mom says it’s okay.”

Daryl had to try hard to not grin, his spirits lifting at the mere thought of playing with Carl. They could run around. Wear each other out. Maybe Lori would let him go  _ home _ with Carl! He had never been to Carl's home!

“Uh, are you okay?”

Daryl jerked his head up, clicking his mouth shut. Was he panting? He had totally been panting. Humans don't pant. Carl looked at him oddly, head tilted to the side once more. “F-fine,” Daryl stammered, sitting up straight again.

Negan clapped a hand onto his shoulder, laughing loudly. “Daryl loves playing with Blue. He's been getting him exercised when Blue gets a bit squirrely. Might let him say a quick hello before you come over.”

“Yes, quick,” Daryl added, wanting to melt into his chair.

Carl fell into silence at this point, still puzzled but wise enough not to ask. Daryl let out a soft sigh of relief. 

Glancing across the room, he watched Lori and Shane quietly talk. About what, Daryl wasn't sure. Maybe hospital things. Adult things. Human things.

Daryl shuddered. As soon as this was over, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to come back as ‘Daryl’ again. Life was better as Blue. Certainly less confusing.

Running over to Lori, Carl chattered for a moment, and judging by Lori’s soft smile, and Shane’s widening grin, the answer was yes.

Carl let out a little whoop, and looked back at Daryl and Negan. “We’ll come over after we get to see Dad, okay?”

“You got it. I’ll call Lucy, have her make us some hamburgers.” Negan nudged an elbow into Daryl’s side. “Those are Daryl’s favorite.”

Carl grinned, and held out his hand to Daryl. “Mine, too!”

Daryl stared at Carl’s hand in confusion. He remembered Rick doing something like this with Tara, but Carl’s fist wasn’t clenched.

“Slap it, Daryl. He’s trying to give you a high five.”

Glancing at Negan, Daryl held out his hand, and Carl enthusiastically slapped their palms together. 

“After we eat, we can go play with Blue! He’s the smartest dog ever!” Carl beamed. “Dad told me he can open doors, and turn on the TV, and open the refrigerator, too!”

Feeling his skin warm, Daryl ducked his head. He was saved from speaking when his throat tightened up, and Negan gave him a knowing look. 

“Daryl isn’t gonna be able to stay very long. He’s got an appointment. He can’t be late.”

Nodding at Negan, Daryl slid his eyes back to Carl. His smile had dimmed a bit, but it was still very much there. 

“That’s okay, Daryl. We can play with Blue any time once my dad comes home. I’ll show you how he can open doors!”

“Yes. Next time,” Daryl rumbled, his cheeks still warm.

Carl was moments away from speaking again when someone walked into the open doorway. Daryl looked up, eyes wide as he saw the nurse.

“I can take immediate family,” she said with a soft smile, then looked to Shane. “And you, too.”

Shane did a weird thing, throwing his fist in the air, and jumped to his feet. “Thanks, Julie,” he smiled, while Lori just huffed out a laugh, and shook her head at his antics.

Carl immediately jumped off the couch, darting to his mother with no hesitation, leaving Negan and Daryl behind. “I…” Daryl spoke, then stopped. He still wasn't family. Unable to hold back a whimper, Daryl shrank into Negan's side and rested his head onto his shoulder.

Negan carefully ran his hand through Daryl’s messy hair. “It's alright, we're next. Just a little bit longer. Alright?”

Daryl nodded but did not lift his head. He just had to be patient.

He was bad at being patient.

* * *

Negan had to hold Daryl's arm the entire walk down the hallway, if only to make sure he didn't push his way past the nurse and barrel into Rick's room.

Rick was awake. He was finally awake. And maybe, just maybe, he could show Rick Blue. Maybe Rick would let Blue rest with him. Maybe he could  _ stay. _

“Calm down there,” Negan grunted as Daryl jerked against his arm again. Daryl just whined loudly and jerked again.

Negan sighed. Probably realizing that there was no calming Daryl, only anchoring him down. “Just play it cool. He won't know who you are. Okay? Don't go Cujo like last time.”

Daryl looked back at him, head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Crazy. Don't go crazy.”

Whining again, Daryl looked back to the nurse leading them down the hall. Why couldn't she go  _ faster! _ He could see the room! He could see the open door! He needed to see Rick, feel him, breathe in his scent…

Swallowing, he craned his head, finally starting to peek into the room…

Carl was on the bed with Rick’s arm curled around him, Lori and Shane looking on with wide, slightly teary smiles. He could hear Rick talking softly to his son, and a shiver went down his spine. Rick talked to Blue like that. 

For the most part, when Daryl was Blue, he slept at the side of Rick’s bed, but sometimes, when Rick couldn’t sleep, he was invited into the bed itself. Rick would lay on his side, his fingers sunk into the thick fur around Blue’s neck, and just talk. He talked about Lori and Carl, Shane, and Negan. He even talked about Merle, and how much he wished that Merle would continue to do well. How he hoped Merle wouldn’t get it into his head to go back to his old ways, and screw up his life again. One night, he’d even brought up Daryl. Human Daryl. Rick, of course, having no idea he was talking to the missing child in question, told Daryl all about the investigation into his disappearance. 

Mostly though, he just talked about his life. His hopes and dreams, and what he wanted for Carl in the future. Daryl always listened attentively, and if it seemed like the right moment, took a swipe at Rick’s fingers, or his face, with his long, pink tongue.

On those nights, Rick usually fell asleep with words still tumbling from his mouth. Daryl would just curl up closer, tuck his nose under his paws, and fall asleep next to him. Contentment like he’d never experienced washing over him in waves.

Daryl swallowed thickly as Rick’s eyes turned up to see them standing in the doorway. He looked tired, and Daryl could see strain in his face. 

“Negan. Didn’t expect to see you here,” Rick smiled, sliding his fingers around and carding through the hair on the back of Carl’s neck. “And who’s your friend?”

Carl stirred slightly under Rick’s arm, his head carefully resting on his father’s uninjured shoulder. “That's Daryl, Dad. Your third base,” he hummed, and Daryl could hear the happiness in his voice.

Rick must be okay. He's gonna be okay.

He was less than a moment away from lunging into the room when Negan seized his arm and pulled him back.

At Rick’s confused expression, Negan let out a laugh, one he tried his best to hush in the small room. “Yeah, Rick. Our  _ third  _ base,” Negan grinned, and Daryl watched Rick’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline. Daryl must be missing something, judging by Rick’s smirk moments later.

His fingers still stroking through his son's hair, Daryl watched Rick’s blue eyes flutter closed for a moment. “Good to hear,” Rick murmured, his voice soft and tired.

Daryl had to bite down on his bottom lip to fight back a whine. Just… he just wanted to lay down with Rick. Feel Rick’s hands run through his hair. Tell him that everything was going to be okay. That he was being  _ good. _ He wanted Rick to say he was  _ good! _

His eyes sliding open again, Rick looked at Negan. “I hear you’ve been taking care of Blue for me. Thanks. He being good?” 

Negan let out a soft chuckle and nodded. “Yeah, he’s good. He’s a good boy.”

Shane let out a snort from the corner of the room, and Rick turned his eyes in that direction. “What?”

“Nothin’, man. Just uh...” Shane’s eyes flicked over to Daryl, who felt like he was going to explode out of his skin at any second. “Struck me as funny, s’all. Blue’s always good. Unless he’s freaking out. Or uh… you know. Mauling things. Or whatever.” Flushing, Shane looked away from Rick.

Rick’s gaze sharpened, and his hands tightened on Carl. “Maybe that’s a conversation we should save for another time.” Rick met Shane’s eyes, and whatever Shane saw there made him flinch.

“Yeah,” Shane gulped, “Another time.”

“I hate to kick y’all out, but I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open,” Rick sighed, his eyes sliding closed again.

“We understand. Right, Carl?” Lori asked, preempting what Daryl thought was going to be a complaint from the boy still cuddled into Rick’s side. “Your dad needs his rest. We’ll come back tomorrow, and don’t forget, we’re going to see Blue tonight.”

Carl sat up quickly, and Daryl saw a spasm of pain pass across Rick’s face before he got his expression under control. He let out a low growl unconsciously, and Rick’s eyes darted over to him.

Looking away from the probing gaze that was focused on him, Daryl shuffled his feet. As Carl made his way off the bed, Rick’s attention was torn away from Daryl, and drawn back to his son. 

Reaching out, Rick caught Carl’s hand and drew him in close. “You give Blue a big kiss on the nose from me, okay? Tell him I miss him, and to be a good boy while I’m gone.”

Daryl once again found himself biting at his bottom lip, holding back the words that felt like they were battering at the seam of his lips. How he was trying to be good for Rick, but that he had done a bad thing. Something that Rick didn't know yet. Would he still be a good boy when Rick found out?

Negan pulled on him again, this time pulling Daryl out of the room. He strained to keep his eyes on Rick, who was looking at his son with such love and warmth that it made him want to howl. 

Howl that Blue was right here.

His eyes remained focused on that room even as Negan began pulling him down the hall, saying things about hamburgers and getting ready for Carl. But he just wanted to stay with Rick.

Tomorrow, Daryl told himself. Tomorrow he would be back with Rick. And maybe, so would Blue.


	17. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Rick is starting to feel more like himself. He isn't in constant agony and he can stay awake longer than twenty minutes. Perfect time for a visitor.

You would think, after being in a coma for nine days, that sleep would be the last thing you wanted. Not the case. Ever since he’d woken up, Rick had been fighting not to go right back to sleep. He’d even nearly nodded off while Carl was visiting. Twice. 

Today was the first day he felt somewhat back to normal. If normal included being in pain every time he so much as breathed. It didn’t help that when he was scrambling off the bed the first night, Carl had elbowed him almost directly on his wounded shoulder. Beyond a slight inhale, he was pretty positive he hadn’t shown any outward signs of pain. Nothing any of his visitors noticed, anyway.

Except, maybe, the guy with Negan. The one Carl had said was Negan and Lucille’s  _ third. _ Rick needed to have a talk with Negan. How the hell had Carl even heard the term? Were Negan and Lucille broadcasting their unusual relationship through the halls of the hospital? 

Rick’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Shane popped his head in. “Hey, Rick! I brought you something!”

Sauntering into the room, Shane smirked as he handed over a greasy looking bag. 

Opening it and peering inside, Rick groaned. “Lamb? Why the fuck did you bring me  _ lamb?” _

“It’s your favorite, don’t lie.”

Rick groaned again, and shoved the bag away. 

“I might have brought you something else, too.”

Slitting open one eye, Rick glared at Shane the best he could. “It better be some form of cow. Or I’ll tell Lori that I caught you jerking off to her picture back in eleventh grade.”

Shane’s eyes bugged out, and he cursed under his breath. “You fucking  _ swore _ you’d never mention that out loud again.”

“I’m starving, and if I don’t get something other than this bland... _ crap, _ ” Rick frowned, poking at the tray that held the gelatinous remains of his lunch, “I might just go insane.” 

“You’re lucky you’re my best friend,” Shane grumbled, reaching outside the door, and pulling another, equally greasy bag inside the room.

“You’re my hero,” Rick sighed, his eyes tracking the bag as Shane threw it onto the bed. “Double pickles?”

“You and your damn pickles. Do you think I’ll ever forget the fucking pickles? After that pissy little fit you threw?” Shane scoffed. “Not a chance.”

“It wasn’t a fit! It was a passionate response to the lack of respect that a person, who will remain nameless, has for my specific cheeseburger tastes.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you gotta tell yourself,” Shane sighed in exasperation, dropping down into the chair next to the bed. Rick could feel the other man's eyes on him as he unwrapped the cheeseburger, and he almost groaned aloud at the smell.

Finally, something other than cold gelatin.

It was only when Rick was halfway through the cheeseburger that Shane finally took in a deep breath, one that Rick knew was leading to some sort of bad news. Lifting his head, he wiped at the corner of his lips. “What?” Rick prodded, swallowing down the mouthful of burger.

Shane sighed again, rubbing his hand over his head. “Uh, it's about- Shit,” Shane trailed off, staring at the wall for inspiration.

“It's… it's about Blue.”

A jolt rushed through Rick’s body, and he nearly dropped the burger. “Where is he? Is he alright? Was he shot?” Rick demanded, his eyes narrowed and hard.

Shane shook his head, his normally olive toned skin a few shades paler than when he began. “No, no, Blue is fine, he's good, Negan’s taking care of him,” he stammered out, but Rick only narrowed his eyes.

After several tense moments, Shane reached into his pants pocket. “It’s not about how he's doing. It's about what he did.”

As a shiver ran down Rick’s spine, Shane pulled out a picture. He held it out, and after hesitating a moment, Rick accepted it.

Rick inhaled sharply, and he felt the half of the burger he’d managed to eat churn ominously in his stomach..

“He did that after I got him off of you. He was standing over you like he was protecting you. The guy was already dead,” Shane murmured, but his voice fell into the background.

Momentarily stunned into silence, Rick’s eyes widened as he took in every detail. It was the man who’d shot him, he was nearly positive. As hard as he’d tried, Rick hadn’t been able to erase his face from his memory. There were clear indents of teeth in his face, and rips through the skin on his stomach. Almost like there had been an attempt to disembowel him.  The grass surrounding his body glistened wetly with blood and when Rick looked closer he could see  _ parts _ littering the ground, as well.

“I… He wouldn't stop, Rick. He took the guy down after he shot you, killed him, and went back to you. I guess when he saw you bleeding out, he just…” Shane shuddered, staring down at the floor. “I don't know what they'll do to him. They haven't done anything yet because of you being here, but it'll come back up. ‘Chonne can only hold them back for so long.”

“I guess Blue’s career as a police dog is over, huh?” Rick said, flipping the picture over so he didn’t have to look at it anymore.

Shane patted Rick’s leg, and smiled softly. “Yeah, it’s over. Was good while it lasted though, right?”

Rick rubbed his hands across his face, and sighed. He wasn’t looking at the picture anymore, but everything in it seemed to be imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.

Staring at his feet, Shance scuffed his boot on the tile floor. “Blue is pissed at me. I muzzled him and took him away from you,” he grunted, grabbing the greasy bag, and reaching for the food inside. “The fucker snuck in here like a week ago. Did they tell you that?”

His mouth dropping open, Rick stared wide-eyed at Shane. “He- In the hospital? What?  _ How?” _

“I dunno, man. But he did it. Snuck up here, and got all pissy when the nurses tried to take you down for some test. Stood on the bed, and went into beast mode.” Shane laughed at Rick’s stunned, disbelieving face. “Swear to god, man. Stood right there on that bed, barking and growling and shit. Had to bring Negan in here to calm him down.”

Rick frowned, and crossed his arms. “Good to know Negan has such a good relationship with  _ my _ dog.”

Shane refused to meet Rick’s eyes for a moment, and when he finally did, Rick could see the guilt that was written there. “Shane… What’s going on? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Laughing uneasily, Shane shook his head. “Nothing’s going on. Just uh… That Daryl guy is sort of cute, huh?” 

“How long have I been asleep. Give it to me straight, I can handle it. Months? Years?” Rick grunted, shifting to a more upright position to try and ease the pain in his shoulder. “Who are you and what did you do with Shane? Am I in the Matrix? Out of the Matrix?”

Shane blinked, then forced an awkward laugh. “It's been like two weeks, Rick, calm down. It's not the future.”

“Then how the hell, no,  _ why  _ do you care about Negan and Lucille’s new playmate? And while we're on that conversation, how the  _ fuck  _ does Carl know about that!” Rick scowled at Shane who was looking away again. “You're not into that stuff, too, are you?”

“He’s not their new playmate.” Shane rubbed at his head, and looked back at Rick. “Negan showed up here the day you got shot with that guy in tow, and I just sort of assumed. Carl heard. He’s Merle’s little brother. You know, the missing one?”

Rick’s mouth dropped open again. “How the hell did Merle’s missing brother show up, and how the hell did Negan get involved in the whole thing?”

“Daryl is… He’s a veteran, and he was overseas for a long time. He’s not having the easiest time adjusting, and Negan is helping him out.”

“Okay, first of all, Daryl Dixon went missing when he was  _ eleven. _ I really don’t think he’s been overseas for that long. Secondly, why the hell isn’t  _ Merle _ taking care of him instead of Negan? And third, why the fuck is he visiting me in the hospital?”

“Dude, calm down,” Shane said softly, his eyes going to the monitors set up next to Rick’s bed. Rick was aware that his heart rate was increasing, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Waking up to all of this was beyond confusing. All he wanted was to go home and cuddle with his son, and his dog.

When Rick only leveled a glare at Shane, his partner groaned. “Okay, one question at a time. Let's start with the first one,” he muttered, glancing out the window as he tried to gather his thoughts. Rick just grumbled while he waited, his heart rate slowly decreasing.

“Uh, yeah, he went missing at eleven. He wandered around Atlanta on the streets and shit until he was old enough to join, and didn't look back. So that's…” Shane started counting on his fingers, mouthing the years. “That's like at least 12 years over wherever he was. So, yeah, long time away from civilization. Could have just gotten lost there, too, I dunno. Daryl won't fucking talk about it.”

Shane took in a deep breath for the next point, then words just seemed to burst out of his mouth. “Merle doesn't know because we only  _ just  _ found out about him being a Dixon. I had to go through records and shit just to make sure he was the right one. And, uh… You know how Merle gets. He hit your fucking dog because Blue touched his vest.”

“The vest that he said he gave to his little brother when he left to join the Army. He’s pretty protective of it.” Rick frowned, and continued glaring at Shane. “Not that that gave him the right to hit Blue. Especially with a wrench, the dick.”

Shane laughed weakly in some sort of agreement, but hushed quick enough. “Okay, third point. Daryl…” Shane paused, trying to find the correct words. “He's… kinda… He's not really right in the head. Like, he's almost a child sometimes. We think he got knocked around in the war and that's why he was sent back, and he just wandered home. Negan kinda adopted him, took him under his wing, and Daryl won't leave, like a puppy.” Shane paled slightly at that word, then swallowed. “Or toddler,” he said quickly. “Or a baby duckling that imprinted and shit.”

Rick frowned, and he could  _ slightly  _ understand Negan’s enthusiasm to care for someone like that.

Negan and Lucille had always wanted children. It was something they had focused their work and time into, not to mention their money. Then Lucille got pregnant, and then the cancer, and then… And then nothing. Rick didn't know if they were going to try again, or if they were too exhausted to think about it.

It had been that time that Rick had moved in next to them, when all he thought was that Negan was a loudmouthed drunk who barely stepped outside unless it was to yell at someone.

Shifting around to get more comfortable, Rick lay his head back on the pillow. “Okay, I guess I can see that. Negan went through a lot of shit, but he pulled himself out. And Lucille has always been a sweetheart.” 

“He came up here like every day, you know.”

“Who? Negan?”

Shane nodded. “Daryl was with him every time.”

“I still don’t really get that part,” Rick admitted. “Guy doesn’t even know me. Why didn’t he stay back at Negan’s place with Lucille?”

Shane laughed awkwardly, and shrugged. “Who knows, man. Negan does what Negan wants. The second you think you have him figured out is the second he does something completely out of character.”

“Whatever,” Rick sighed, sinking down further into the mattress. “When was the last time you checked in on Blue? You are checking in on him, right? Not just leaving it all to Negan?”

Flushing just a bit, Shane mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Just uh… Negan takes real good care of Blue. They get along great. I actually saw  _ Blue _ just yesterday. I’ll see them today, too, when I go pick up some clothes from your place for you. Doc says you’ll be out of here in just a few days.”

Rick sighed slightly. He couldn't picture Blue being so close to anyone else other than himself, and it stung a little. Maybe if Negan had found Blue first, or anyone else, Blue just would have attached to the first person that gave him food.

“You're making sure he's getting exercise, right? I don't want him chewing on my furniture because he's left alone.”

Shane waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Believe me, Blue gets out and about all the time with Negan. When he isn't sneaking here, I mean.” Shane gave a weak smile again, a failed attempt at a joke.

“Well, he can open doors. So you have to lock everything,” Rick huffed, finding the explanation to Blue getting out. Or he could have just jumped the fence. All he knew was that Blue at least didn't get hurt. “I would shoot your ass if he got hurt running loose, just saying.”

“I’ve seen you checking out my ass, you wouldn’t shoot it,” Shane winked, turning around and shaking his ass at Rick.

“Jesus, put it away, you’ll scar me for life.”

“C’mon, admit it. I’ve got a great ass.”

Rick reached behind his head, and threw one of the flat hospital pillows at Shane. “Get out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I gotta go anyway. Carl didn’t get to go see Blue the other day, so we made plans to go over tonight. Negan and Lucille are gonna grill up some hamburgers for everybody.”

“I see how it is. Why couldn’t you wait until I was home to do that? You know how I feel about burgers.” Rick looked pointedly at the remains of his cheeseburger.

“Carl wants to see Blue.” Shane shrugged. “Negan and Lori talked about it, I had no part in it. Blame them.”

Huffing, Rick crossed his arms over his chest and sank back down. He would not complain that he wanted his pillow back, now laying on the floor out of reach. “Give Carl my love,” he sighed, trying to ignore how his mouth was watering at the thought of Negan’s burgers.

They put most restaurants to shame. Rick didn't even let Blue have a piece just because he refused to part with a single bite. Plus, Rick had seen Negan sneak Blue an entire patty once he thought no one was looking.

“Always do,” Shane grinned, standing up and stretching. “I'll be back tomorrow. Any requests?”

“My sketchbook. Please? I'm dying of boredom and they won't give me shit to do,” Rick complained, though technically he was only just awake enough to want to do anything besides sleep.

Chuckling, Shane nodded. “Hey, I'll bring Daryl if you need a model,” Shane teased, patting Rick’s leg as he crossed the room. “He's a great anatomy lesson, lemme tell you.”

Rick just rolled his eyes, and watched Shane walk out the door before sliding his eyes closed. He winced when he shifted the wrong way, and pulled at the stitches in his shoulder. Rubbing at the tender skin, Rick thought about the picture Shane had shown him. He’d known, realistically, that Blue was capable of something like that. He was a large, powerful dog. But it didn’t make any sense. Blue had never once snapped at Rick. Never gone for anyone that had hurt  _ him _ even. Merle had clocked him with that wrench, and Blue had just hidden. It was almost like Blue had torn that guy up for revenge. 

Letting out a long sigh, Rick cleared his mind, and settled himself more comfortably. The doctors had told him that rest was important to his recovery. Yawning widely, Rick closed his eyes, and followed their advice.


	18. Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Daryl is still itching to see Rick again, he knows he has to wait. At least Negan has thrown together a little picnic in celebration, which means two things: attention and burgers.

Yeah, the world was a lot better as Blue. Not Daryl.

Daryl laid panting on his back, staring up at the sky that was just beginning to color with sunset. His tail made long sweeping arcs against the grass, and he stretched out his limbs, paws digging into the grass as he bathed in the satisfying feeling of exhaustion.

Playing with Carl was the second best thing in this world. The first obviously was whatever he did with Rick.

He took in a deep breath, salivating at the burgers still cooking on the grill not too far away. Negan always saved a patty for him.

Rolling back to his feet, Daryl swung his head towards Carl, ears up and tail wagging. Carl was with Lori, who was fussing over how dirty he was getting, and his need to be careful when he played with Blue. Because Blue wasn't a toy.

Daryl smirked. Lori didn't know how durable he really was. But he would rather Lori not worry about the opposite. About him hurting someone. Even though he could still clearly remember the sensation of his teeth cutting through flesh just two weeks ago, Daryl knew he would  _ never  _ hurt someone Rick loved.

Bounding over, Daryl rubbed his muzzle against Carl's side, letting out soft yips. Play. Let's play more. Throw the ball, even over the fence. I'll show you how I can climb it.

Carl laughed and pushed his face away, but Daryl was determined. He threw a paw up onto Carl’s shoulder and pulled him down, giving Carl’s face enthusiastic licks.

“Ewww, Blue! Knock it off!”

Negan laughed from his position behind the grill. “That just means he loves you, Carl. Get used to it.”

Clambering up onto the picnic table, Carl managed to distance himself from Daryl. “I’ve got doggy drool all over my face!”

Daryl huffed out a breath, and walked over to the basket of toys Rick had set up outside. Rooting through it, Daryl picked out a tennis ball, and trotted over to Shane.

“What? Carl worn out?”

Daryl looked over at Carl, who was being fussed over by Lori, and let out a little woof. 

“I still can’t believe you like that shit,” Shane mused, grabbing the ball from Daryl’s mouth. “You wouldn’t do it if you didn’t like it, right?”

His eyes focused on the ball, Daryl tensed his body.

Shane laughed, and wound up, throwing the ball as hard as he could.

The ball flew over everyone’s heads, and over the fence that separated Rick and Negan’s yards. Daryl heard Shane curse lowly, and glanced back at him before taking off towards the fence. Bunching up his muscles, Daryl launched himself over the fence, clearing it easily.

Ignoring Coco, Daryl looked through the yard until he found the ball, and made his way back over the fence. Walking up to Shane, he dropped the ball at his feet, panting happily.

“Holy shit,” Shane mumbled, staring wide-eyed at Daryl.

Daryl cocked his head to the side. What?

“That fence is like six feet high.” Shane looked around at everyone else, who just continued their activities. “You all saw that, yeah?”

Negan snorted, waving his spatula in the direction of the fence. “Yeah, we saw it. Not the first time he’s done that.”

“We found him curled up on our back porch a couple nights ago,” Lucille said, crossing over and giving Daryl a scratch. Daryl's tail thumped against the ground as he leaned into her hands. “I think he was lonely.”

“Is he bleeding?” Lori asked, coming up beside Lucille.

Daryl swept his tongue out and tasted blood. Yeah, he was bleeding.

“He probably went through our rose bushes,” Negan said, and he pointed to the laundry room door. “Rick has some dog first aid stuff right in there.”

Lucille started to get up and go inside, but Lori stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “I’ll take care of him. C’mon, Blue,” she called, patting at her thigh. “Let’s go get that nose cleaned up.”

Tilting his head, Daryl stood back up and trotted to Lori’s side.

Lori was the one person Daryl was unsure of. From what he had seen, Lori was protective over Carl, which was good. That made it so Carl didn't have to hunt for his own food, and didn’t have to take care of himself. But there were times that she would stare at someone, and it would make Daryl’s blood run cold.

She reminded him of Morgan's sergeant. He had been a powerful man, with a stare that could bring anyone to their knees. They’d just called him The Boss. There had been times that Daryl wanted to take a chunk out of his leg, but Morgan always stopped him.

Lori was that type of person from what he had seen, and what Rick had told him. Daryl had been a listening ear to Rick, and a lot of times he’d talked to Blue about Lori. There had been many fights over Carl being allowed to stay with Rick, especially before they’d gone to Tara. Rick would curse and growl, stomp around the room…

Then by the end of the night, he would collapse onto the couch and admit that Lori was right at some level. That she loved Carl to the point of smothering, but Rick would rather Carl have that than a lack of love. She just… showed her love differently.

As Daryl followed along behind Lori, he wondered if she had always been that way. Rick had told stories about when they’d been young, dating in college, their marriage… Was that part of her still in there? Did she still love Rick and Rick love her? There were a lot of questions he couldn't ask anyone, so he watched closely, and listened.

“Alright, let's see,” Lori hummed as she picked her way through the cabinet. Daryl swiped his tongue over his nose again and still tasted blood. It wasn't much more than a sting, but if Lori wanted to make it better, he would let her.

Finally plucking out a little bag from above the sink, Lori pulled out some gauze. He remembered that from when Merle had hit him and he’d gotten a nosebleed. That had definitely hurt much more than this little cut did.

Kneeling down in front of Daryl, Lori poured some clear stuff onto the gauze and pressed it against his nose.

Yelping, Daryl pulled back. It stung! Why would it hurt!

“Hey, hey, it's okay, sweetie,” Lori hushed carefully, pulling away the gauze and setting it onto the sink counter. She reached out and ran her fingers down his head, petting slowly and carefully.

Relaxing under her warm hands, Daryl looked up at Lori and whined.

“I know it hurts a little bit, but it only lasts for a minute. It’ll help you get better faster.”

Lori pressed the gauze back against his nose, and, this time, Daryl was prepared for the sting. It wasn’t that bad, really. Just surprised him. He’d had much,  _ much _ worse.

Pulling back the slightly bloody gauze, Lori smiled down at him. “There. All cleaned up.”

His tail wagging slowly, Daryl moved in closer, and licked a stripe up Lori’s face.

Lori smiled and didn’t try to push him away, so Daryl moved in even closer, settling his muzzle on Lori’s shoulder. He let out a small huff of air and tilted his head, so it rubbed against Lori’s hair.

“You are a sweet thing, aren’t you?” Lori sighed, lifting her hands, and somehow scratching at the spots Daryl liked best. “Rick was right all along.”

Daryl pulled back and looked up at Lori, his head cocked to the side.

“I swear, it’s like you understand everything I’m saying,” Lori murmured, then a soft smile twitched into being at the corners of her mouth. “Also, just like Rick said.”

Running her fingers across Daryl’s floppy ears, Lori let out another little sigh. “I didn’t want to like you, you know.” She looked at him, and Daryl whined softly, trying to encourage her to go on. 

“I had a dog once, and he was the best dog anyone....” Her words trailed off, and she laughed softly. “I suppose everyone says their dog is the best dog, right? But he really was. His name was Rango. When Rick gave him to me, he had a ribbon around his neck, and his little tag said, ‘Will you marry us?’ It was criminally cute.”

Daryl huffed and nudged at Lori’s hand when it seemed like she wasn’t going to continue.

“I was only nineteen, and Rick was barely twenty. We had no idea what we were doing.”

Lori stood, and leaned back against the counter, her eyes staring off into the distance. “I think Rick thought that Rango would convince me to move in with him.” Lori smirked and looked down at Blue. “I was adamant about not living together before we were married. I didn’t want there to be any gossip about us. Not even a  _ hint _ of something indecent or unseemly.”

Shaking her head, Lori moved further into the house, patting at her thigh to get Daryl to follow her. When they made it into the living room, Lori sat in the middle of the couch, and Daryl hopped up beside her, laying a paw across her thigh. He wasn’t sure  _ why _ exactly Lori was telling him all this, but he felt like she needed to.

“He was such a little pup.” Lori let out a laugh, a small smile on her face. “Rick didn't know how to take care of him if he was alone with Rango. So, I took him everywhere. He used to fit in my bag.”

Lori became quiet again, so Daryl gave her a small lick against her hand in silent support. He kept his eyes on her face, on her changing expression, on the pain that had surfaced. Rubbing her eyes with her free hand, Lori took a deep breath.

“I hadn't had him long. A few months? But I loved that dog like a son. One day, Rick and I were taking him for a walk. Had him on a leash and everything. Then…” Lori cleared her throat, trying to mask the pain and attempted to brush away her tears.

“This… dog, this huge dog just came out of nowhere. It grabbed Rango in its mouth and just shook, and shook…”

Lori shook her head, and patted at Daryl’s paw. “It took me a long time to get over that. When I saw Rick down at the mall with all those pet supplies, I went right back to that day. It was like someone ripped open an old wound that had never healed properly.”

Taking a long breath, Lori held it in for several moments before she released it. She looked down at Daryl, and wiped the last remaining tears off her cheeks before smiling at him. “I was angry that he was potentially exposing Carl to that kind of hurt. Angry at you for even existing. But I think I was wrong.”

Lori’s fingers traced over the long scar on Daryl’s shoulder. “If you survived all of this, you can survive anything.”   


Twisting on the couch so she was facing Daryl, Lori cupped his muzzle in her hands. “You’re a good boy, Blue.”

Without hesitation, Daryl felt his tail take off in a whirlwind, slapping against the arm of the couch. Daryl would never get tired of that. Of people saying he was good. Leaping up, he covered her face with rapid licks and whined happily.

“Okay, okay!” Lori giggled, finally smiling widely. She patted at his cheeks, gently pushing him away. “Take it easy, I'm not as sturdy as Rick is,” she laughed as she managed to push him back a bit.

Dropping his head onto her lap, Daryl panted happily as she ran her hands down his back, scratching softly. “I'm glad Rick found you. I was worried about him after our divorce, that he wasn't really happy. It's been a long time since I've seen him like this. Happy.”

Daryl whined, and turned his head toward the laundry room. Taking a quick sniff of the air, he let out a short bark. Carl. Carl was coming. He launched himself off the sofa, and ran over to the door just as the boy made it inside.

“Whoa, Blue! You’re gonna knock me down!”

Daryl huffed and jumped up, laying his paws on Carl’s shoulders and licking his face. 

“Gross! Mom!” Carl giggled, slumping down to the floor. “Mom! Help!”

Lori stood up from the couch and walked over, a large smile on her face. “What’s wrong, Carl? I thought you wanted a dog. This is what happens when you have a dog.”

Carl was pushing Daryl’s face away, but Daryl was much stronger than Carl, so it wasn’t working very well. There was only one thing that could possibly distract Daryl now…

“Food’s done! Come and get it!”

Daryl’s ears shot up at the sound of Negan’s voice, and he scrambled off of Carl. There were burgers to be eaten, and he was going to be first in line.

By the time everyone was settled around in at the large outdoor picnic table, each with their own burger, Daryl had long since devoured the patty that Negan had tossed to him. It left him wandering from person to person, trying to sneak his way into being fed a scrap or even take the burger.

Negan tossed him one of the slimy tomatoes, and Daryl gave him the most wounded look he could muster as Blue. Gross.

Halfway through the group eating, Daryl had given up and instead sulked beside Carl, his head laying on the boy’s lap and letting out pathetic little whines and grumbles.

“You're acting like you've never been fed your whole damn life,” Negan laughed from where he sat next to Carl, reaching over and giving Daryl a pat on his side. “Such a drama king.”

Carl stuffed a bite into his mouth before he glanced up at Shane, who was still polishing off his own burger. “How’s Dad?” he asked, muffled through his food.

Shane chuckled as Lori scolded Carl's lack of manners. “He's bored. I gotta give him a sketchbook to keep him busy.”

“I want more drawings of Blue!” Carl chirped, this time swallowing down his bite first. Daryl just huffed. Daryl just wanted to  _ be  _ there with him. Negan hadn't take him back yet, all because Rick wouldn't know him as Daryl, and taking Blue was out of the question. When he’d tried to go by himself, Negan caught and dragged him back home, reminding him of the giant clusterfuck he’d caused the last time he snuck up to see Rick.

“What happened to your friend, Negan?” Lori spoke up, looking across to him and Lucille, who were whispering to each other. “I thought he was going to come see Blue.”

“Yeah, uh,” Negan glanced over at Daryl, who rolled his eyes in Negan’s general direction. “He had to uh… He got called in to work.”

Shane snickered and looked at Negan, a devious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Work, huh? What’s he do?”

Daryl looked up at Negan, and he wished it was possible to get a good laugh in as Blue. He could sort of approximate it, but it just wasn’t the same. Negan’s eyes were wide, and his mouth was stuck half open as he stared at Shane. A look of betrayal slowly took over, however, and Negan’s eyes narrowed. After a quick glance at Shane, Daryl was pretty sure he was regretting teasing Negan.

“Well, you would know, Shane, old buddy,” Negan said, his eyes still narrowed on Shane. “He works down at the station with you, after all.”

“What?” Lori gasped, leaning over to smack Shane on the arm. “You told me you didn’t know him!”

“Yeah, Shane,” Carl piped up, still chewing on his burger. “You said he wasn’t from around here.”

Shane had grown pale at this point, trying to stutter out some sort of an excuse that wasn't working its way past his lips. “He’s, uh, new! Uh, does desk stuff, I barely noticed the guy was there!” Shane lied through his teeth, while Negan’s grin got bigger and bigger.

“Ain't that kinda rude of you,  _ Shane. _ Guy's been there for months! Even went out on patrol with you!”

Shane fumbled with his words again, and Lori narrowed her eyes more and more at Shane, like he’d purposefully been misleading her. “Something must be wrong with him if you're covering it up,” Lori said in a cold voice, making Shane wince. 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with him,” Shane grunted, looking up at Lori from underneath his lashes. “I just didn’t recognize him outta uniform, that’s all.”

“If you’d just said that in the first place,” Lori sighed. “Why are you always making things so difficult?”

Daryl huffed out another laugh, and walked over to Shane, sliding his muzzle over the other man’s thigh, still making huffing noises.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Shane whispered, leaning in close, so only Daryl could hear him. “You’re the one who’s gonna have to deal with Lori, and her reaction to being the  _ last _ to know.”

Daryl whined, and tucked his head under Shane’s hand. He didn’t want to make Lori mad. She was just starting to like him!

“You know,” Negan drawled, leaning back into his lawn chair with a growing mischievous grin, “I think you're just tryin’ta cover up how you were checking out his ass.”

“Oh my God! Negan!” Shane shouted, his face going bright red.

“Poor thing didn't recognize his ass not in that tight uniform-”

“Do not fucking start!”

“Language!” Lori snapped at the two, reaching over and covering Carl's ears with her hands and sending another frigid glare at Shane. Even  _ Daryl  _ trembled at that one, letting out a soft whimper. Carl just blinked in confusion.

Negan snickered before leaning over and giving Shane a hard pat on the shoulder. “Ain't your fault, he's kinda cute in a wild sorta way. Like a goddamn puppy.”

Lucille choked on her lemonade, eyes widening as she stared at her husband. “I think you better start shutting your cakehole,  _ honey,” _ she said, warning laced into her words. Paling, Negan dropped back into his chair and started sipping his drink, not meeting his wife's eyes.

Shane snorted, and was about to say more when Daryl growled lowly at him. Even Daryl had caught the warning in Lucille’s voice, and knew that now was not the time to test the usually easy going woman.

“All right, bud, I get ya,” Shane grumbled, ruffling Daryl’s fur. He looked up at everyone sitting around the table, and grinned widely. “So… Who wants to play poker?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guess what.  
> Next chapter is gonna be the one you've all been waiting for.  
> B)


	19. Home is Where Your 'Dog' Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick is finally released from the hospital and can finally come back home. There's a certain someone waiting for him.

The ‘couple of days’ Shane had told Rick ended up being anything but. Instead, Rick found himself sitting in that tiny hospital room for what felt like an eternity, but was, actually, a week. It was murder. And probably against the constitution somewhere.

By the time Rick finally got checked out of the hospital, he found himself acting like a grouchy old man. He hoped he never would have to go to a retirement home if this was how he acted after just a week and a half in a hospital setting. Really, he was annoyed because Shane had been  _ oh so careful  _ with him, more than even Lori, while Carl was jumping off the walls.

It gave Rick a headache, but he didn't have the heart to snap at Carl.  _ Shane,  _ on the other hand, he could bitch out as much as he wanted. Mostly because he had promised to bring Blue for a visit, only to ‘forget.’

But in all honesty, it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the pain. The bullet had pierced his shoulder, only to hit the inside of his bulletproof vest as it tried to exit. It left multiple shards of bullet just floating around, dangerously close to clipping arteries.

By the time Lori  _ slowly  _ drove up to his house, which she jokingly said was exactly like when Rick had first driven Lori and Carl home from the hospital, Rick was about ready to either wither away into his seat, punch Shane, or just scream.

That all changed as soon as he stepped out of the car and took approximately two steps towards his front door.

He could hear Blue. Hear his loud barking, and his frantic scratching against the door. Rick felt his heart fill with happiness and relief once the door burst open, and that blur of grayish blue fur came barreling down the walkway.

Skidding to a stop inches away from Rick, his body vibrating and his tail wagging faster than Rick had ever seen it, Blue leaned in and rested his head against Rick’s leg. Excited whines were coming from his mouth, and his front paws were hopping off the ground periodically, but he didn’t jump. Not like Rick had seen him do in the past.

“Hey, buddy,” Rick smiled, going to his knees on the driveway, ignoring the small bits of gravel that dug into his kneecaps. He sank his fingers into the thick ruff of fur on Blue’s neck. “I missed you, Blue. Tried to get you a pass into the hospital to come see me, but it never worked out.”

Continuing to whine, Blue pressed his nose into Ricks neck, long huffs of air fanning out over Rick’s skin, giving him goosebumps. Blue’s paw came up, and hooked around Rick’s side, like he was trying to pull Rick even closer, and Rick let out a low chuckle. “I guess you missed me, too, huh?”

“He was so excited he didn’t even wait for me to open the door. Just went ahead and opened it himself.”

Rick looked up, and grinned at Negan. “Told you he was smart,” Rick said, wrapping both arms around Blue, and squeezing him tightly. “Smartest dog in the whole damn world.”

Negan laughed and cocked an eyebrow at Rick. “Whole world, Rick? You sure about that?”

“Positive,” Rick replied, resting a hand on the ground to help push himself to his feet. He may have only been in the hospital for just under three weeks, but he had definitely lost some muscle tone. Hell, he was exhausted just from the trip back home. All he really wanted to do now was lay down on his couch, and watch a movie-sleep through a movie, most likely-with his boy and his dog.

Still grinning widely, Negan crossed the lawn and patted the top of Blue's head. “Glad to see you home, Rick,” Negan said, a rare note of sincerity in his tone. Rick could tell that Negan wanted to hug him, as Negan was quite a physical person, but held himself back. Probably for the best. Pain pushed aside, he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of his best friend, son, and ex-wife with his pathetic crush.

“Glad to be back,” Rick sighed, then carefully took a step around Blue to head towards the front door. Just like always, Blue immediately turned around and pressed his side against Rick’s leg, looking up at him with those brilliant eyes.

It took longer than he wished, and he was getting more tired with every step, but Rick finally stepped inside his house for the first time in weeks. He could smell food, something that made his stomach groan.

“Thought you'd like some burgers,” Negan rumbled beside him, stepping back to let Carl, Lori and Shane follow Rick inside.

Taking a quick glance around, Rick huffed. It was like he had never left. Except it looked like Blue had knocked over his pile of sketchbooks at one point. And there was some clothing flung over the back of the couch that he didn't remember putting there. But, whatever.

Blue stayed glued to his side as Rick wandered into the kitchen, where Lucille had snuck into one of the burgers early. She squeaked, her mouth still filled with the hamburger, and flushed bright red.

“Ah, c'mon, Baby, I told you he'd be back soon!” Negan groaned from behind him, and Rick laughed softly. Though Lucille looked dainty and petite, when she was healthy, she could demolish family meals with ease. It was impressive.

No longer able to just keep walking around, Rick slinked his way to his couch, which was looking more inviting by the second. He collapsed onto it with a loud moan, and Blue immediately clamored up beside him, trying his best to not step directly on Rick.

When Blue settled down a couple feet away and looked at Rick with sad eyes, Rick laughed. “C’mon then,” he said, patting the cushion right next to him. “You can get closer, I’m not gonna break.”

With a happy whine, Blue curled up next to Rick, his head resting on Rick’s lap. He nudged at Rick’s hand with his nose until Rick relented, and started a slow stroke up and down Blue’s back. 

Leaning his head back against the cushion, Rick closed his eyes and sighed. It was good to be home. He lay there, undisturbed, for a good five minutes before he felt Blue’s ears perk up under his hand. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen. “Oh, baby, I think I’m in love,” he groaned.

Shane scoffed and set the plate down on the coffee table. “It’s just a burger, dude. Relax.”

Scooting forward, ignoring the protesting huff from Blue, Rick picked the burger up off the plate. “Pickles?” he asked, looking at Shane.

“What did I tell you last time?” Shane scowled, glaring at everyone in turn when they started laughing. “You and your damn pickles.”

Rick smirked and took a massive bite of the burger, letting out a groan that probably made a few people in the room uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. This was, officially, the best thing he’d ever eaten. “Whoever made this is getting a marriage proposal,” Rick sighed, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Well, shit, Rick! I thought you’d never ask!”

Feeling himself flush, Rick scowled at Negan. “Shut up. I changed my mind.”

Negan walked over and bumped his hip against Rick’s uninjured shoulder. “Tease.”

Swatting at Negan, Rick focused on his burger again. He was about to take a bite when he felt a cold nose press against his wrist. He looked down into Blue’s hopeful eyes, darting between Rick’s face, and the burger. “What? Want a bite?”

Blue stared intently at Rick, and let out a soft yip.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Rick laughed, pulling back the top bun, and breaking off a small piece of the burger. “Here you go.”

When Blue's eyes remained on the rest of the burger for an uncomfortable amount of time, Rick started to get the feeling that he was thinking of just grabbing the entire thing. Finally, Blue snapped up the small bit from his fingers. Letting out a happy rumble, he dropped his head back onto Rick’s lap.

The others soon surrounded the coffee table, Shane taking the recliner and Lori and Carl sitting on opposite sides of him. Negan and Lucille chose to eat in the kitchen, to give the family some space.

Blue managed to beg his way into getting one more bite of burger before Rick fully polished it off. Sighing happily, he leaned back into the cushion and closed his eyes. Now, his belly filled with good food, he was even  _ more  _ tired than he was originally. If he could just go to sleep…

Lori seemed to understand what Rick wasn’t saying, rounding up Carl and mentioning something about homework that needed to be ready for school tomorrow. Carl immediately complained, but after a stern look, he hushed to soft grumbles instead.

With a careful hug from Carl, and a quick kiss on the cheek from Lori, the two made their way out of the house. By that point, Shane had left and gone back to the kitchen, and he could hear the three people talking but…

Nah, he wanted sleep.

Rick must have successfully dozed off, judging by the careful prodding on his uninjured shoulder by someone, and as he looked up with a half-assed glare, he found that it was Shane.

“Let’s get you to your actual bed, alright?” Shane murmured with a smirk, his voice a light tease that took him back to their college days. When Rick would get drunk-he was a lightweight-and Shane would have to drag him back to their dorm.

Muttering under his breath, Rick took Shane’s outstretched hand and managed to get to his feet with just a wince of pain. His shoulder had stiffened up while he’d been sitting.

Blue was back at Rick's side the moment he moved, and Rick could feel his tail smacking against the backs of his legs.

As soon as Rick entered the bedroom, he collapsed with no care for the fact that he was still fully dressed all the way down to his shoes. He just burrowed his way into his messy blankets, muttering to himself.

Just as he planted his head onto his favorite pillow and sucked in the familiar scents to lure him to sleep, he heard a low whine.

Rick slitted open his eyes, and the first thing he saw was a nose. Maybe three inches from his face. “Blue,” he groaned, wincing as he shifted positions. “You know the rule, buddy. No dogs on the bed.”

Everything was quiet for at least a minute, so Rick started to let himself drift off again. Then, another, louder whine came from Blue, and cold wet nose pressed against his own. 

Rolling onto his back, Rick let out an exasperated chuckle. “Can’t you just sleep on the floor like you always do?”

Blue just whined again, and stuck his nose into Rick’s side. Thank goodness he was wearing a shirt. That nose was cold on his ribs. He knew that from personal experience. “Go play with Shane and Negan, I just wanna sleep,” Rick slurred, the meds Shane had forced on him starting to take effect.

Quiet reigned in his bedroom once again. He heard Blue’s nails clicking on the floor in the hallway, and sighed, curling up onto his side again. He was nearly there, just seconds away from being completely asleep, when he felt something licking his hand.

Rick jerked up, too close to sleep to properly process what was going on, and immediately let out a moan of pain, his hand going up to put pressure on his still healing wound. “Fuck!” he hissed, probably louder than he should’ve, because he now heard multiple sets of boots thudding down the hallway.

“What’s wrong?”

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

Still rubbing at his shoulder, Rick pointed to the corner where Blue was crouched down and starting to whine. “He startled me. I just sat up too quickly.”

“Jesus, Rick,” Negan said, his eyes wide. “You scared the shit out of us. We thought you fell out of bed or some stupid shit like that. Opened your stitches. Anybody else have visions of blood gushing everywhere, ‘cause I sure did.” Negan pointed at Lucille and Shane before collapsing on the chair next to Rick’s bed.

Lucille walked over and threw her arms around Negan’s neck, hopping into his lap. “And people say you’re an asshole. You’re just a big softy.”

Shane snorted, and Negan glared at him, his fingers tightening on Lucille’s legs. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word come out of your mouth right now.”

Holding up his hands, Shane opened his mouth carefully, like he expected laughter to come pouring out any second. “I’m not saying shit, man!”

Muttering under his breath, Rick carefully lowered himself back down into the blankets. He threw a glance over to Blue, who was now pressing himself into the corner like he expected Rick to be angry and hit him.

He sighed as he pressed his face into the pillows again. “Can you take him out of my room? I just wanna sleep, and if he’s in here he might bump my shoulder or something,” he muttered, his words still slurred with drowsiness and medication.

As he closed his eyes again, he heard Blue give a loud wail, making him cringe. Shane grunted with the effort to pull Blue out by his collar, while Blue struggled the entire way. Had he been himself and not partially drugged and in pain, maybe Rick would have relented.

But instead, he just felt relief as the door finally closed, and after hearing Shane tell Blue to go lay down, there was silence. He didn't care if Negan and Lucille were still in his room. He didn't care if Blue would more than likely would open his door and come into the bedroom again.

All that mattered was that he went to sleep in moments, leaving the rest of the world to continue on without him.

* * *

Rick was honestly surprised when he woke up and saw the door still closed. He half expected Blue to be standing over him, or Shane, Negan or Lucille within inches in case he needed something. Instead, he was alone and in sweet silence.

Lifting his uninjured arm, and keeping the other tucked tight to his chest, Rick stretched, letting out a long groan. His toes brushed up against something warm, and he wiggled them into it before tilting his head up and looking down. Chuckling, he murmured, “Well played, bud.”

Blue popped his head up and gave Rick a wide doggy grin before creeping forward slowly, and draping himself gently over Rick’s chest.

“I think you’ve gained weight. What has Negan been feeding you?”

Rick buried his fingers in Blue’s fur, seeking out all the places the dog liked to be scratched the most, and laughing when Blue let out a small groaning noise. “Bet you missed my scratches, huh? No one’s scratches are as good as mine.”

After finally forcing himself out of the bed, Rick padded into the kitchen, the tiles cold on his bare feet. When had he taken off his shoes? Blue’s nails clicked behind him, and Rick made a mental note to trim them sometime soon. 

“‘Bout time you woke up!”

Clutching at his suddenly racing heart, Rick’s back slammed up against the pantry door. “Jesus fuck!”

Negan grinned at him from where he sat at the kitchen table, Shane directly beside him.

“Sorry, man. I told you last night we’d be back over this morning.” Shane shrugged one shoulder. “Guess you were too tired and drugged up to remember.”

Narrowing his eyes at the two men, Rick just grunted under his breath. He sat down across from Negan, plopping his good arm onto the table and continuing his tired glare. Blue placed his head into his lap, letting out chuffing sounds all the while.

“Why are you both still here? I'm fine,” he sighed softly, looking up at the two men. He ran his fingers down Blue's neck and back, scratching into his thicker fur.

Negan grinned even wider, leaning back into his chair as he chewed on some pastry Rick was guessing he bought from Carol. “Keep your panties on, Ricky, it won't be long. Just got a couple things to talk to you about, that's all.”

Shane rolled his eyes and looked back at Negan when the other man gave him a nudge. “Seriously?” he grumbled, leaning forward and resting his arms onto the table. He cleared his throat and leveled his eyes on Rick.

Gulp. Shane was serious.

“What's going on?” Rick muttered, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously. His fingers tightened on Blue. “Is this about him… About the guy?” 

Rick couldn't help but think about that picture again, a shudder working down his spine at the thought of the  _ mess _ Blue turned that man into. “They can't take him away, they  _ won't,”  _ Rick growled suddenly, wrapping his arm around Blue's neck. “I don't care what he did!”

“Nah, you can stop worrying about that. Me and Michonne worked it out.” Shane waved a hand in Blue’s direction, and grinned. “Was touch and go for a minute, but we got it done. He’s officially no longer a police dog, but that’s it.”

The wave of relief that washed over Rick was nearly enough to leave him breathless, and tension he hadn’t consciously known he was holding in his shoulders relaxed. A small groan, half smothered in Blue’s neck when the dog threw his front paws into Rick’s lap, slipped from Rick, and he wrapped his arms tighter around Blue. “Thank god,” he breathed, pressing his forehead into the top of Blue’s head. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to pull that off.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Shane sighed, rubbing at his head. “There was a pretty tenacious Internal Affairs officer that they sent down from county. But we won her over in the end. Convinced her that the crash is what caused the majority of the damage.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Negan asked, looking between Rick and Shane with a confused expression on his face. “Internal Affairs? What the fuck did you do?”

“Blue was a bit uh…” Shane looked over to Rick.

“Excessive.”

“Yeah. Blue was a little bit excessive in taking down the guy that shot Rick. There were some questions that had to be answered, and for a minute, we thought that we might have been ordered to put him down.”

“What?!” Negan slapped the table with the palm of his hand, and growled under his breath. “Wouldn’t have fucking happened, even if they  _ did _ order it. No goddamn way. I would’ve sent him to live with my cousin in Omaha before I’d have let him get put down.”   


Shane wrinkled his nose, and made a gagging noise. “Who the fuck would want to live in Omaha?”

Rick shook his head and gave Blue one more squeeze before finally releasing him. Blue grumbled but rested his head back onto Rick's lap, licking at his hand. “If it isn't about Blue, what is it? Are they not letting me back on the force?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, Shane and Negan looking back at each other with nervous gazes. Shane opened his mouth, but a female voice answered instead.

“Can you quit teasing and just show him?” Lucille groaned from where she laid on the couch in the living room, looking up from some sort of book he couldn't see. She tilted her head back to look up at Rick, a glint in her eyes. “It's not a bad thing, honey. Just let them show you.”

Show him what? Rick looked back at the two men with still narrowed eyes. And Lucille knew about it? “This isn't about you guys… uh… you guys aren't  _ all  _ playmates, right?”

“Brace yourself, Rick,” Negan said, reaching down beside him and putting a pair of pants and a T-shirt onto the table, which certainly did nothing to distract Rick from his first thought. “Now’s the time.”

“For what?” Rick asked, still trying to figure out what the hell they were talking about. Blue dropped down off his lap, and Rick wanted to call him back immediately.

Shane walked around behind Rick and slid a hand on his shoulder. “Just… Stay calm alright?”

Blue barked, and Rick’s gaze swung around to land on him. And then, in the time it took for Rick to blink, Blue was gone. 

Rick blinked again, rapidly, and tried not to ogle the naked man that was now standing in front of him. He lifted his hands and rubbed at his eyes for a moment, lowered them, and then did it again. Nope. Still there. “Uh. I think you guys might need to take me back to the hospital. Something is wrong with me.”

Someone snorted but Rick didn't have the mental capacity to figure out who. He was still staring at the man who was still  _ extremely _ naked. Clearing his throat, Rick blinked a few more times and was about to ask again, since maybe he hadn’t actually said the words aloud, when Negan obscured his vision.

“So, Rick,” Negan started, handing a shirt to the naked man who glared down at it with obvious distaste. “Do you recognize him? I know you're probably outta your mind right now, but give it a sec. We got all day.”

Rick opened his mouth then shut it with a loud click. The other man was grumbling to himself as he pulled the shirt over his head, before grasping Negan's shoulder to steady himself. He then started to clumsily pull up the pants.

“Hate fucking pants,” the man scowled.

“Yeah, man, we know,” Shane groaned. “We really fucking know. I’ve seen way too much of your ass the past few days. It’d be much nicer if you could keep the clothes on when you shift.”

“Speak for yourself, man. I happen to like looking at his ass.” Negan looked away from the now dressed man, and back over to Rick. “So. What sort of thoughts are going through your head, Ricky? Anything you want to share with the class?”

Rick screwed his eyes shut for several long moments, then opened them again. Nope. No changes. “Shit,” he wheezed, his mind immediately going back to the day that Negan and Lucille had come home from their trip. “I fucking jacked off in front of him, didn’t I?”

Negan let out a booming laugh, Shane not far behind him, and the-man-who-used-to-be-his-dog shifted uneasily. Rick lowered his face into his hands, his cheeks burning. Muttering curses into his palms, Rick prayed that a hole would miraculously open up in the floor of his kitchen, and swallow him up.

Rick forced himself to take in several deep breaths, rubbing his palms against his eyes before looking back up at the… man. Those eyes. Those piercing blue eyes. The ones that always stared into his soul… Yeah. Somehow, someway, this man was Blue.

Deciding to mentally still call him Blue, because his entire brain felt dead at this point and he didn't want to overload it, Rick sat up properly. “This… He’s been this, the whole time?” he breathed, gesturing at Blue.

At least now that Blue was fully clothed, he could stand to look at him properly. Wide,  _ wide  _ shoulders. Muscular. He recognised the shirt as Negan’s, who was wider through the shoulders than Rick, but Blue still looked moments away from bursting through the seams. His head was down, arms crossed in front of his chest, and was he _ whimpering?  _

As soon as Rick noticed the sound, it stopped, with Blue shuffling a step back. Negan turned back to Blue suddenly with a frown, still holding onto his shoulder for some reason. “Hey, pup, it’s alright. Just give‘m a minute,” he soothed in a voice that reminded Rick of the one he used on Coco.

This man was a  _ dog.  _ He was still acting like one, Rick realized. Was he more dog than man? Was he a man at all?

“Explain,” Rick managed to grunt in a strained voice, his eyes remaining fastened on Blue.

Shane spoke up this time, letting Negan keep his attention on Blue. “Uh, so… From what Negan told me, ‘Blue’ is Daryl.”

How could his dog, his  _ pet,  _ be the missing Dixon kid? Rick fell into silence, and waited for Shane to continue.

“I wasn't lying about what I said at the hospital. He went to war and all that shit. But as Blue. We're guessing he shifted for the first time and freaked out, ran off. I guess eventually he found the base a couple hours from here.” Shane shrugged. “That's about it. The rest is still the same. Merle doesn't know, he went to war, came back while still being Blue, and then you found him.”

Letting out another one of those soft whines, Daryl crouched down and shuffled forward. He hesitated, a foot or so away from Rick, and looked up. Their eyes locked together, and Rick didn’t even think. He lay his hand on his thigh, palm up, and wiggled his fingers slightly. Daryl covered the remaining distance in a second as he fell to his hands and knees, his bristly half-beard rubbing against Rick’s palm. Again, Rick didn’t even think, and he brought his other hand down and curled his fingers into Daryl’s shaggy hair, murmuring soothing words under his breath.

“You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would,” Negan said, his fingers tapping on the table. “Got some skeletons in the closet, Officer?”

Rick nodded. “My grandfather.” He continued carding his fingers through Daryl’s hair, not letting himself think too deeply about what was happening. Blue was Daryl and Daryl was Blue. They’d figure everything out.

“Missed you,” Daryl growled, turning his head, and pressing his face firmly into Rick’s hip. “Different with you gone. Bad.”

Shane snorted, and Daryl lifted his head to glare at the other man, the corner of his lip curling into a snarl. Holding his hands up in the air, Shane chuckled. “Sorry, man, this is just a lot different than I pictured this going.”

Rick could feel the growl in Daryl’s throat, his head still pressed into his lap in a way that certainly wasn't comfortable but wasn't uncomfortable either. He just… expected a different head. A furry one with a long snout. And floppy ears.

Forcing himself to continue running his fingers through Daryl’s hair, he tried his best to soothe the sudden spike in aggression. “He… Daryl disappeared in…” Rick started, only to have his brain shut down again. No, he knew what Blue liked. Just do that. Forever. Don't make it weird.

“Reported back in ‘91,” Shane said, dropping his hands. “Could’a been earlier, since Merle was in the military at the time. So…”

“‘Bout twenty years as a dog,” Negan finished, smirking as he watched Rick and Daryl with keen eyes. “Probably spent a third of his life as a kid, two-thirds a dog. So the whole… speaking, doing human things? Work in progress.”

“Getting better,” Daryl huffed, dropping his head fully into Rick’s lap.

“Yeah, he's getting actual sentences out now. And he stays in the clothes!” Negan grinned, leaning across the table and sitting his chin on his fists. “Damn smartest toddler I've ever seen.”

If Daryl took offense to that, he didn't show it, and instead just nuzzled his face deeper into Rick’s lap. Okay, now it was weird.

Now Rick was thinking of all the times Blue had been like this, nuzzled up to his crotch, and when Rick was naked getting out of the shower… And he’d masturbated in front of him! And Daryl  _ touched  _ him, too! Got his nose straight on Rick’s dick!

Oh my god,  _ stop thinking about that. _ Rick cleared his throat, and looked away from Daryl’s shaggy hair. “So, uh… Why was he a dog for so long then?”

“I haven’t got many details for you, Rick.” Negan gestured at Daryl, and shrugged. “He isn’t exactly the chattiest guy in town, you know? The gist is, I think, that his father was beating the shit out of him, he ran, he shifted, and he just never shifted back.”

Rick’s tugged lightly on a strand of Daryl’s hair, and slitted blue eyes looked up into his own. “Why’d you stay as Blue? Why not shift back?”

Hunching his shoulders, Daryl flushed and buried his face back in Rick’s lap. Rick squirmed, he could feel Daryl’s breath through the thin pajama pants he was wearing, and it was hitting some  _ sensitive _ places. Tugging at Daryl’s hair until their eyes met again, Rick said, “I just want to understand, alright? Nothing bad is going to happen if you explain a little bit more.”

Chewing on his lip, Daryl stared into Rick’s eyes. “Not gonna send me away? I can stay with you?”

His heart flooding with unexpected warmth, Rick nodded, doing the best he could to speak around the lump that had grown in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, you can stay.”


	20. Not the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Rick are finally alone, and Daryl starts opening up about his past. While Rick wants nothing more than for everything to stay the same, Daryl is making it difficult, even if it isn't his fault. He just doesn't understand.

A few hours later, after Rick had assured Shane, Lucille, and an uncharacteristically nervous Negan that he was fine with everything, he was finally alone with Blue. Or, Daryl. Shit, that was going to take some getting used to. 

Looking down at the head in his lap, Rick sighed. Since he’d shifted into human, Daryl had barely left his side. They were currently on the couch, Rick’s sore shoulder propped up on the arm, and Daryl sprawled across his lap, sleeping. Rick ran his fingers through Daryl’s long hair, and studied his face, lax in slumber.

Daryl wasn’t what Rick would call classically handsome. His eyes were too small, and his nose definitely wasn’t that patrician thing that Lori was obsessed with on a few actors. Raising a hand, Rick skimmed the pads of his fingers over Daryl’s cheekbones. These were nice. Rick had always been a sucker for cheekbones. His epic crush on Johnny Depp as a teenager was proof of that.

Rick shook his head. His dog was now a human. Daryl had a brother. Would he get tired of living here, and go stay with Merle? Did Rick even  _ want _ him to stay? Rick winced and rubbed a hand over his shoulder. There was no way he’d be able to continue having the same relationship with Blue now that  _ Blue _ was  _ Daryl. _ It just wouldn’t work. He was really going to miss having a dog.

How was this going to work? Would Daryl be more of a roommate? Would Rick have to get him a bedroom by himself? But… there was only one other bedroom and that was Carl's. There wasn't room for another person, not without sacrifices. And…

Sighing loudly, Rick started running his fingers through Daryl's hair again. His heart sunk. The fact that Daryl was a shifter shouldn't make a difference, but… It just wasn't that simple. It was going to take some work. 

Daryl shifted on his lap, letting out little snorts and grumbles and buried his head deeper into Rick’s lap. 

Yeah, that was another reason. Rick had been in some state of… Hell, he was hard. Not all the way, but enough to feel uncomfortable and awkward. Daryl was still acting like a dog, and had no regard for personal space. This… For Rick’s own sanity, this wasn't going to work as it was. Even if he wanted everything to go back to normal, even if Daryl stayed as Blue, it just wouldn't work if Daryl acted the same way. There were going to have to be rules.

Clearing his throat loudly, Rick felt Daryl jerk on his lap. His face scrunched up in irritation, then he blinked open those blue eyes Rick couldn't believe belonged to both man and dog.

Daryl yawned and stretched before nuzzling his face even deeper into Rick’s lap. “Happy…” Daryl mumbled, closing his eyes again. “Sleepy.”

“I know, but we need to talk, Daryl. Now that everyone’s gone.”

Slowly withdrawing, Daryl curled up in the corner of the couch, making himself as small as possible, looking at Rick from under his eyelashes. Rick had a very uncomfortable flashback of Blue hiding under the table in the laundry room, and winced. “I just want to know more about you, that’s all,” Rick said, resisting the urge to adjust himself in his slacks. It wouldn’t help anyway.

Daryl nodded, and looked at Rick with those intense eyes. 

“Okay… Uh, did you really shift as a kid and never shift back?

“Didn’t try that hard. Dog is easier.” Daryl squirmed a little, and brought his thumb up to his mouth to start chewing on his fingernail.

“How old were you? How old  _ are _ you?” Rick asked.

Daryl shrugged. “Think I was eleven. Not sure.” He brought his hand up and pointed at his head. “M’not good with time. Didn’t matter much.”

“And you were really a-” Rick broke off with a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m really asking this. You were a war dog? In Iraq? Afghanistan?”

“Dunno where,” Daryl said around the index finger he had jammed into the corner of his mouth. “Desert. Caves. Lots of guns.” He scrunched up his face for a long moment, seeming to be thinking very hard. “Baharia. I think. Weren’t there for very long. Travelled around all over.” He removed his finger from his mouth and pressed it against his nose. “Bombs. All over.”

“Shit,” Rick breathed, his mouth falling open. “You were a fucking bomb sniffing dog, but you’re a human. How did you deal with that? No one knowing  _ you? _ ”

Daryl bristled. “Am Blue. Am Daryl. Both. Had M-Morgan.” Daryl closed his eyes, and pressed his hand against his side. The spot where Rick remembered seeing a small round scar he’d thought looked like a bullet wound. He supposed it actually was.

“You got shot.” It wasn’t a question, but Daryl nodded anyway. “Want to tell me what happened? It’s okay if you don’t.”

Squeezing his eyes shut even harder, Daryl shook himself lightly, like Rick had seen Blue do countless times. “S’hard,” Daryl gritted out, finally opening his eyes and looking over at Rick.

“You don’t have to.”

“Regular day. Patrol, looking, always looking,” Daryl started, hunching in on himself even more. “Shooting, and M-Morgan fell. Have to protect Morgan, but didn’t, covered him up, so nothing else could hurt him.” Daryl’s fingers clawed into his side, and he whined, looking in the direction of Rick’s lap.

Daryl was struggling, and Rick felt his heart melting away in his chest. Rick couldn't help but think about the scared dog hiding under the table once more. “It’s alright,” he said, holding a hand out to Daryl, and wiggling his fingers. “C’mon.”

Daryl scrambled across the couch and pressed himself against Rick’s side. Rick wrapped an arm around the man’s trembling body and squeezed softly, running his palm up and down Daryl’s arm.

“Shooting kept happening. Long time. Stayed with Morgan. But he…” Daryl trailed off, and shuddered. “Failed. Stryker failed, Morgan… Morgan dead, and Stryker shot. Fell asleep, when I woke up, Morgan was gone, and was in a cage. Bandages and tubes. Felt bad. Alone.” Daryl looked up at Rick then, moisture gleaming in his eyes. “Didn’t like it.”

After several long moments, Daryl bowed his head, and buried his face in Rick’s neck. “Rick never left Blue alone. Felt bad, but not alone. Not sad. Rick didn’t leave.”

Rick could feel Daryl’s trembling soothe slightly in his arms, but not enough. Giving him another squeeze, Rick rested his cheek against Daryl's head. “I won't leave,” Rick murmured softly, only to feel his stomach turn inside out at his sudden promise.

But it was true. He couldn't just leave. Blue was still in there, even if it was a different exterior. Yet he couldn't ignore the changes.

Taking in a deep breath, Rick closed his eyes. He had to do  _ something. _

Rick tried his best to change the subject, trying to pull Daryl away from thoughts of ‘Morgan.’ That conversation had answered some questions though. Rick understood the sudden aggression Blue had shown when he’d had gotten shot. He must have been so scared, thinking that it was all going to happen again.

“You got taken back?” Rick asked softly, running a hand up and down Daryl's back soothingly.

Daryl nodded, letting out a sigh, his breath fanning out over Rick’s neck and making him shiver. “To base. Didn't know no one. Just ran.”

“Did you try to go back home? With Merle?”

Another nod. “Broken.”

Rick wasn't surprised. Judging by the abuse Merle and Daryl suffered in that house, he doubted that even Merle would still live inside it. That left Daryl just wandering. Homeless. A stray. Rick swallowed hard, and tried to think of something soothing to say, but his mind had gone completely blank.

“Nice lady. Carol.”

“She's very nice, she took care of you,” Rick chuckled softly, thankful for the new topic. 

Now if the timeline he had in his head was right…

Daryl huffed lowly against his neck, making a small shiver run up his spine. “Then… Then fights.”

“How did you get out of there? They don’t just let ani- Uh. They didn’t just let you go.”

“Mullet Man. Left the cage unlocked.”

“Mullet Man?” Rick thought back to the people who’d been arrested that night, and thought he remembered a heavier man with a mullet. He hadn’t been charged with much. Got off with a fine, most likely. “Did he do it on purpose, or was he working there, and just forgot?”

“Came most every night. Snuck in back. Unlocked cages, brought food.” Daryl shuddered and his voice got quiet. “Needles for some of them. Ones hurt bad, dying.”

Jesus. Rick couldn’t imagine. Locked in a cage, not knowing if you’re going to survive from one day to the next, dependent on a stranger for any kind of help. “It’s good that he did that, but it doesn’t make it okay that he was there. He could have done so much more.”

“Snuck around after that, looking for a way out. Didn’t find one. Made one. Window. Cut me up, but better than being locked in a cage. Wandered. Found Merle. Threw a wrench at me.” Daryl huffed, and Rick could feel Daryl’s lips brush against the skin of his neck, then nuzzle his head into the crook.. “Asshole.”

“He can be, yes,” Rick agreed. “We need to let him know you’re safe. I think he blames himself for you going missing.”

“Pa’s fault. I knocked over his jug. Came at me with the strap. Hurt me, so I ran. Woke up and weren’t Daryl no more.”

“You haven’t had an easy time of it, and that’s an understatement.” Rick ran his fingers through Daryl’s hair, tugging lightly at the ends. “We’ll go see Merle tomorrow, okay? I’ll make sure he doesn’t hit you with a wrench.” Rick paused, before he asked, “What were you doing when we were over there that day? Why did he hit you?”

“Trying to get the vest.  _ My _ vest. Gave it to me before he left. Thought if I took it back, he’d know I was Blue  _ and  _ Daryl, not just Blue.”

“Instead, he thought you were crazy, and trying to eat the vest.”

Daryl nodded. “You’re stupid like him. Not understanding when I try to tell you.”

“What?” Rick asked, his brow furrowed. “You never once tried to let me know you were more than what you seemed!”

“Story about Grandfather. Tried every night after that. Can’t see what’s right in front of you. Stupid.”

Rick looked down at Daryl, and saw a tiny smirk on his face. Rick just huffed, and nudged at Daryl’s shoulder, trying to separate them. “Which reminds me, we need a lesson in personal space, Bl-Daryl, move over.”

Daryl whined softly, a deeper sound than Blue's whimpers and almost raspy. That word seemed to describe Daryl well; raspy. Rugged and unkempt.

Rick nudged Daryl softly in the side in an attempt to prod him along, and after another whine, Daryl rolled off of him. He couldn't hold back a quiet laugh as he saw the pout the other man now wore, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

It almost made Rick change his mind, but not quite. They had to have some rules, now.

“Can still call me Blue,” Daryl murmured, his eyes unfocused and staring at the coffee table. “Easier.”

Rick shrugged. There was already so much to consider, so he just chucked it up onto his mental pile. Something they’d get to eventually, but nothing too pressing. “Uh, let's figure out other stuff first. Okay?” Daryl nodded, still not looking up at him. 

There was a moment or two of awkward silence, before Daryl muttered something. “Hmm?” Rick prompted, leaning in closer.

“Can… just be Blue. If better. Easier.”

Cocking his head to the side, Rick asked, “What do you mean?”

“Been a dog for a long time. Can just stay that way.” 

“No.” Rick shook his head. “That wouldn’t solve anything. And you deserve to be…” Rick gestured to Daryl’s body with a little smirk. “You deserve all the human experiences. All the human food. God! Daryl, how did you eat that shit I’ve been feeding you? It’s expensive as hell, but it looks disgusting!”

Daryl smiled and looked up at Rick. “Things taste different. Food wasn’t bad, was just fuel. Had to eat it to walk around.”

“I need to make you a steak. You deserve it.”

Daryl’s eyes widened like the world had suddenly opened up before him, and he licked his lips. “Make it now?” he breathed, hope in his eyes.

Holding back a laugh, Rick nodded, gingerly getting himself up off the couch, and heading for the kitchen. “I’ll show you how to do it. It’s not hard.”

Well, at least it wasn't hard for anyone who knew how to cook  _ anything.  _ A half hour later, Rick found himself bandaging Daryl's burnt hand, while Daryl whimpered. “I told you, you can't just grab the pan,” Rick sighed, looking into Daryl’s tear-filled eyes..

Daryl brushed at his eyes with his other bandaged hand. He’d accidentally cut himself with a knife. Three times, in fact. That was probably Rick’s fault. He should have believed Negan when the man said Daryl needed to be taught basic skills.

Finally, Rick released his hand and stood back up. “Go wait in the living room, alright? They're almost done. Just need to rest for a few minutes.”

Daryl nodded slightly, lifting his bandaged hand to sniff at it, and, if Rick wasn’t mistaken, take a couple experimental licks, before sulking off to the living room. Rick sighed loudly as he returned to the kitchen to make doubly sure the steaks were cooked. He’d made Daryl's more rare, as he had seen the man eat raw meat as a dog. Perhaps this meant Daryl's biology was different? 

Mentally smacking himself, Rick shook his head. Of course his biology was different. Half human and half dog. Was his digestive tract more dog than human, or more human than dog? Should he cook the steak more? Would eating barely cooked meat make Daryl sick if he ate it as a human and not a dog? Shit. He was overthinking this.

Juggling two potatoes he’d cooked in the microwave, Rick chucked them onto the plate, and blew a cooling breath on his burning fingers. 

After sliding the steaks onto the plates next to the potatoes, Rick frowned. Did he need to cut up Daryl's food for him? Would he even use silverware? While he was standing there trying to decide, he heard a soft grunt behind him.

“What?” Rick asked, glancing quickly at Daryl before jerking his head back around, his mouth falling open.

Oh no. No, no, not that.

Daryl stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding that black sketchbook that Rick  _ knew _ he’d tucked away in his nightstand. Daryl was holding it open, exposing sketches Rick had memorized many times over. Fantasies and desires he’d never shared with anyone.

“S'plain?”

That was Daryl's favorite word. Explain. He would point to random things, even things Rick was sure Daryl already knew, and ask for their meaning. It was mostly simple things like toasters or the way Rick cooked the meat but...

This? Rick didn't want to talk about this.

“No!” Rick yelped, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder, and grabbed the book before slamming it shut, making Daryl jump back in the process. “That's not for you! Bad!”

Rick immediately regretted his reaction when Daryl scuttled back several feet, hunching over like he was trying to avoid getting hit.

Tucking the sketchbook into the waist of his pants, Rick cursed lowly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. It’s just…” Rick pinched at the bridge of his nose. “This is private. Not something I’d ever let anyone see, if I had a choice.”

Tentatively, Daryl stood up straight, and his eyes flicking between the sketchbook and Rick’s eyes, asked again, “S’plain? Please?”

“Oh, fuck me,” Rick sighed, plopping down at the kitchen table and putting his head in his hands. To hell with it hurting his shoulder, he couldn’t think of a better position to be in right at this moment. He peeked at Daryl from between his fingers, and sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Daryl chewed on his lip, then shook his head. “Want to know. Why other ones are okay to share but this one not okay. And what…” Blushing, Daryl sat down at the table across from Rick. “Seen people do that before, but only boy and girl. No boy and girl in there. Only boy and boy. Pa said that was bad, but you’re not bad, so why?”

Thumping his head a few times against the table, Rick contemplated just forgetting about dinner, and locking himself in his bedroom. He’d already had a version of this talk with Carl, and it had gone just about as well as could be expected. Lori was a bit resistant to the idea of any kind of homosexual relationship, but she managed to rein in her prejudices in front of their son, thank god. 

Rick eyed Daryl some more, and thumped his head on the table once more for good measure. “Alright,” he sighed, sitting up and setting the sketchbook on the table gently, like it was a bomb, and prone to explode if he handled it too roughly. “I’m going to need a little bit more than ‘explain,’ but if you’ve got questions, I’ll answer them.”

“Why two boys? It’s bad.”

“It’s not bad. Some boys are born liking boys, and some boys are born liking girls. It’s just how it happens. There’s nothing wrong with it. That’s like saying since you have blue eyes, that means you’re bad. You can’t help it that your eyes are blue, it’s just the way it is. Right?”

Daryl nodded, but he looked skeptical. “You like boys?”

“I’ve always been sort of equal opportunity. My first relationship was with a guy, but then I was with Lori.” Rick tapped his fingers on his thigh, and almost laughed at the confusion on Daryl’s face. “I like boys and girls. That way.” He nodded towards the sketchbook.

“You like Negan.”

“Oh, god, kill me,” Rick muttered.

Daryl's eyes widened at that, causing Rick to groan. “Not literally. Just…” This wasn’t fair. The thirty-something year old man sitting in front of him, who used to be his dog, who watched him  _ jerk off, _ had no right to be as innocent as he was right now.

“It's… You can  _ like  _ someone, but…”

Daryl tilted his head and blinked, his overlong bangs falling across one eye. “You like Negan,” he said again, as if rooting this as fact.

“No, I…  _ respect  _ him.”

Rick could see Daryl's eyes darting down to the sketchbook quizzically, and knew that the man was not convinced.

Sighing, Rick thumped his head back down, wincing at the stab of pain in his shoulder. “Negan is married to Lucille, they're partners. I can't  _ like  _ him.”

“Negan likes you. Likes Daryl. Shane.”

“Not that kind of like, Daryl. Friend like. Not… This like,” Rick groaned, tapping his hand onto the sketchbook, and wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

A frown pulled at the corner of Daryl's lips, before he slumped forward onto the table, copying Rick's posture. He rested his chin on his arms, eyes fixed on Rick. Rick could tell Daryl still had questions, but either he couldn't find the words or didn't want to offend Rick by asking.

“Boys with other boys isn't a bad thing, Daryl. Your Pa was wrong about that. So whatever he told you…” Rick bit his bottom lip, attempting to find words that weren't just, ‘Your dad was a bigoted asshole.’ “If you like boys, that's fine. If you like girls, that's fine too. If you like both, then that's still fine.”

Daryl's piercing blue eyes flicked down to the sketchbook. He let out a long sigh, then looked back to Rick. “Like you.”

Rick recoiled a bit at Daryl’s words. “You can’t.”

“Why not? Said it’s okay.”

Standing up so suddenly his chair nearly tipped over, Rick backed away from the table and Daryl. There was no answering this question correctly. It was like the questions Lori used to ask him. Questions with traps built into them. “You can like boys. Men. But not me. I’m your friend, and that’s it.”

Daryl stood up and followed Rick until Rick’s back was pressed against the wall. “Never thought about it before. Never wanted to. Never liked anybody. Like you.”

“I’m telling you-”

Daryl grabbed hold of Rick’s wildly flailing hand, and lunged forward, pressing his lips against Rick’s. As far as kisses went, it wasn’t a great one. Daryl’s nose slammed into Rick's, and he mashed their lips together so hard, Rick swore he could feel every single one of Daryl’s front teeth. At least he hadn’t tried to use tongu- Wait, no, there he goes. Daryl licked clumsily at the tight seam of Rick’s lips, and whined, his hand clenching on Rick’s wrist.

Pulling his face away from Daryl, Rick struggled to free his wrist. He jabbed quickly at Daryl’s midsection. Not enough to actually hurt him, but hard enough to knock some of the breath out of him, and affect his escape.

Quickly putting the kitchen table between them, Rick pointed a finger at Daryl, who had started to follow him. “Stop. I mean it, Daryl, stop now. You don’t just do that to people. It doesn’t matter if you  _ like _ them or not.”

“Wanna do like in the drawings,” Daryl whined again, hunching over slightly before settling down at the table.

“You don’t do things like that unless the other person wants to do them, too. I do  _ not _ want that from you,” Rick stated, his tone flat. “Are we clear?” 

“B-but, Rick, I-”

“Are we  _ clear?” _ Rick repeated, narrowing his eyes to slits. “We are  _ not  _ like that.”

The silence that followed his words was just about as comfortable as pushing needles underneath his fingernails. Watching Daryl's face slowly crumple made Rick feel like he’d just kicked him in the stomach. Kicked a dog, kicked a  _ child. _

Sucking in a deep breath between his teeth, Rick shook his head before pointing to the living room behind him. “Go to bed. This conversation is over.”

Daryl let out a soft whimper, cringing down into his seat.

“No. I don’t want to hear it. Go. Now.”

It felt like slow motion as Daryl slid out of his chair, but Rick didn’t take any chances. He made sure to back away from Daryl, staying well out of reach. Daryl physically flinched, ducked his head before retreating to the living room.

Rick heard a sharp popping sound, then the soft whump of clothes falling to the floor. Edging carefully around the corner, Rick caught the sight of Blue picking his way to the dog bed sitting in the corner, a bed that probably hadn’t been used in weeks. Blue had always slept in his room, but now…

No, that had to stop.  _ This  _ had to stop. Daryl wasn't a dog that weighed around hundred pounds that Rick could push off of him. He was a man with the brain of a  _ child.  _ And the same man could overpower him if he  _ really  _ wanted to.

This wasn't safe. Not for Rick or for Daryl.

Grabbing the sketchbook off of the table, Rick ignored the dog that was watching his every move and walked into his bedroom. He shut the door, locked it, and sat onto the mattress.

Rick needed to do something. Staring down at his phone sitting on the nightstand, he grudgingly picked it up and opened his messages.

_ ‘You up?’ _

_ Shane: of course u ok _

Rick snorted.

_ ‘Yeah, I'm fine. But I need to talk to you about something.’ _

Rick paused, then let out a sigh.

_ ‘It's about Daryl.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... It seems some people forgot about the fact that there's still about eleven chapters left :p Can't make it too easy for our favorite boys.


	21. Bittersweet Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick wished that Daryl being a shifter wouldn't change anything. But his hands are tied. He needs help. There's a certain ex-con who might be willing to lend a hand.

Rick wasn’t able to get the look on Daryl’s face out of his mind the entire drive over to Shane’s apartment. He’d woken up early, his shoulder throbbing like someone had shoved a red hot poker into it, and immediately grabbed the tylenol he’d set on his nightstand. Nothing stronger today, despite how much he wanted it. Rick needed to be clear headed for the conversation he was looking to have.

He’d avoided the living room like the plague, sneaking into the kitchen like some sort of redneck ninja to make some sort of breakfast for himself and Daryl. Thinking back on the culinary mishaps from the night before, and seeing the steaks on the table untouched and cold, he decided on a simple bagel. Daryl could handle smearing cream cheese on a bagel, right?

Looking up from the toaster, he saw Daryl standing in the doorway, his shoulders hunched. “Morning, Daryl. How’d you sleep?”

Daryl grunted, and pulled at the collar of his shirt. It was the same shirt from yesterday, and Rick wondered if Daryl had any clothing of his own other than what was currently on his body.

“I’m making you something to eat, then I’m going to head out for a little while. Got some errands to run. I’ll call Negan and have him come over to keep you company while I’m gone, okay?”

Another grunt, and Daryl turned around, walking back into the living room. 

Okay, that could have gone better. Could have gone worse, too. Positive thinking, Rick. Positive thinking.

Sliding his cell phone out of his pocket, he texted Negan, and got a reply in moments. Nodding, Rick headed for the front door. “I’m leaving, Daryl. I’ll be back later.”

Daryl’s head popped up over the edge of the couch, and Rick flinched. The look in Daryl’s eyes… Like Rick had just stuck a knife in his back. It was a look of complete and utter betrayal, and Rick wanted to race into the living room, vault over the couch and let Daryl cuddle into his side like they’d done yesterday. Instead, he ducked his head, unable to meet Daryl’s eyes any longer, and walked out the front door.

* * *

Shane paced in front of Rick, something that Rick knew was a bad thing. That meant that he was thinking. Rick didn't like it when Shane thought, because it led to things like Shane wanting to kick Blue out of the house, or have him put down.

Rick took a quick glance at his phone, and winceed. Negan had sent him a picture of Blue curled up tightly in his dog bed, his head tucked into the corner of the wall. Off to the side was his squeaky squirrel, untouched. The text that came with the picture was self explanatory.

_ Negan: dude wtf _

Rick sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and set his phone face down on the coffee table. Daryl hadn’t shifted back from Blue since Rick left. He just lay there.

“So, lemme process this,” Shane sighed, turning back to Rick and sinking into his recliner. He awkwardly tugged at the chair until he was facing Rick properly. He pressed his palms together and stared down at the ground, still thinking. “Daryl, not Blue, got clingy. Assaulted you, I'm gonna call it, because that's sure as hell what it sounds like. And you don't know how to knock him out of it.”

“He just… he doesn't understand how it works. How being human works. And I get it, he hasn't  _ had  _ to for two damn decades. But he can't do that shit now, he can't just be Blue.”

Shane responded with a groan, leaning back and rubbing his hand over his head. His brow furrowed with a mixture of frustration and thought. “Shit, man,” he sighed. “Unless he’s just Blue from now on, I… He’s a 200 pound kid who could snap  _ my _ neck like a twig if he felt like it. A  _ military  _ 200 pound kid. If he can't control himself, he's dangerous.”

“I just don’t understand how he didn’t fixate on Negan, I mean, that’s what all the drawi-” Rick felt the color drain from his face, and glanced up at Shane, hoping against hope that he hadn’t noticed what Rick had said. But, no, he wasn’t that lucky.

“Been drawing lots of Negan porn, huh? I can sort of see it. He’s not bad lookin’, if you’re into beardy assholes.”

Rick groaned. 

“Dude, he fixated on you because you’re the one who took care of him. You fed him, bathed him, and bought him every dog toy known to man.”

“Not another word about Negan, I mean it. So I had,  _ had,  _ a little crush. Sue me. Moving on.” Rick tugged at his hair, his mind spinning in a million different directions. “What am I going to do here? I feel like a dirty old man saying this, but if the situation were different, I could see myself…” Rick motioned with his hand, trying to think of a word to describe what he was talking about. “I could see myself  _ with _ Daryl. I didn’t really know I had a type, but he’s it, apparently.”

“If you like him, then what’s the problem? I thought you were an unwilling participant, man, that’s not cool! You need to make that shit clearer next time! Got me all huffy, defending your virtue and shit.”

“I  _ am _ an unwilling participant. Daryl may look like a normal man, but he’s not. He may have been a soldier, and been in combat zones, but he did all that as a  _ dog, _ not as a man. When it comes to human experiences, he hasn’t fucking  _ had _ any. There’s so much he doesn’t know.” Rick stood from the chair, and began retracing Shane’s steps, raking his fingers through his hair, and tugging sharply. “In every way that matters, Daryl is a  _ child, _ and it would be  _ beyond _ wrong for me to take advantage of that.” Rick’s voice lowered at the end, nearly inaudible even to him.

Shane let out a long sigh, rubbing his head almost furiously. He leaned back in the recliner, and closed his eyes, his brow still furrowed. “I think this shit is too big for you to handle, man. You can't treat him like a man, you gotta treat him like a kid. Yeah, it's fucked up, but…” Leaning forward again, Shane shook his head. “Only other thing I can think of is… I dunno. He needs to go back to Merle. Needs to be on his own, away from you.”

Rick stopped short, knowing that Shane had just echoed the thoughts running through his head all day. Getting rid of Daryl. It sounded absolutely horrid, like abandoning him on the side of the road. But Merle had to miss his brother. Maybe Merle wanted Daryl with him. His only family left.

Maybe Daryl wanted to be with Merle.

“How?” Rick breathed, staring at Shane with wide eyes. “I just told him I wouldn't leave. Not like-” Rick cut himself off. Like Morgan. The man who’d died under Blue's protection. Would Daryl ever forgive him if he left? Hell, would he even  _ leave? _ “Even if I got Merle to take him, he won't go.”

“Last time I checked, you don’t have to provide room and board for anyone you don’t want to.”

“I need to go talk to Merle,” Rick sighed. “All of this discussion is pointless if Merle doesn’t have a place for him.”

Shane nodded, and nudged Rick’s good shoulder. “I’ll go with you when you talk to him, huh? Backup.” Taking Rick’s silence as a yes, Shane stood. “When do you wanna go?”

“No time like the present, I guess,” Rick said, “Get it over with.”

“You got it, Rick.” Shane headed into the bedroom, and came out with his holster around his waist.

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Expecting trouble?”

Hitching the belt up around his waist, Shane grinned. “It’s Merle Dixon. Better to be prepared.”

* * *

 

Telling Negan that he needed to stay longer with Daryl but not saying the reason why was difficult. Negan had resorted to calling, which Rick thought about answering for all of a microsecond, before turning off his phone. There was no doubt Daryl would be listening. If this worked out the way Rick wanted it to, then...

Riding passenger in Shane’s car was silent and awkward.

“You're doing the right thing,” Shane murmured softly, glancing to Rick from the corner of his eyes.

“Doesn't feel like it. Feels like I'm putting him in a “Free Home” box by the highway and leaving.”

Shane just shrugged. “Think of it like he's going to school,” he said, a faint smirk on his face. “Going to redneck school. Professor Merle. Moonshine 101.”

“Professor Merle. God help us all.”

When they pulled in to the garage’s parking lot, Rick nearly asked Shane to turn around, he’d changed his mind, and Daryl could stay with him forever. He managed to talk himself out of it by reasoning that the attachment he felt was to  _ Blue  _ not Daryl, and reminding himself that forcing Daryl to stay as Blue wasn’t right, or fair.

Shane got out of the car, and strolled over to Merle, who was in his customary spot, leaning against the side of the garage smoking a cigarette. They spoke for a minute, and when Shane turned around looking for Rick, he finally forced himself to get out of the car.

“Merle,” Rick said, nodding his head at the other man.

“Piglet Jr. here says you got somethin’ you wanna talk to me about.”

“Yeah,” Rick began, rubbing the back of his neck, one of the mannerisms he’d picked up from Shane somewhere along the line. “It’s about your brother. About Daryl.”

Merle’s eyes narrowed and he pushed off the wall, stomping in Rick’s direction. “If I was you I’d shut my mouth right the fuck now,” he growled.

Holding one hand out to Shane when his friend moved to block Merle, Rick quickly said, “Your brother is alive.”

Merle stopped in his tracks at that last word, and Rick saw complete shock on Merle’s face before his face twisted back into anger seconds later. “Bullshit,” he scowled, flashing nicotine-stained teeth. 

Rick caught Merle’s hand latching onto the edge of that leather jacket he held dear, and winced. Daryl's attempt to reveal himself to Merle ran through his head again and he could  _ swear  _ there were still small blood stains on the concrete.

Rick refused to take a step back, though. Straightening his spine, Rick met Merle’s eyes. “It's not. He’s alive, and we can bring him to you. But you need to understand someth-”

Merle lunged forward, and Rick found himself standing toe to toe with a man with eyes made of ice. “Listen up, pig,” Merle snarled, his hands twitching at his sides, and probably moments away from grabbing Rick. “You say one more word-”

“Back off, Dixon!” Shane shouted, grabbing Merle and pushing him back. Judging by Merle clenching up his jaw, his eyes searing into Shane, and how his hand was reaching for his back pocket, this conversation would not be going well.

Rick grabbed hold of Merle’s shoulder, ignoring the pain that shot through his own at the motion, and said, “That vest was his. You gave it to him before you left for Iraq because he was always following you around asking if he could wear it.”

His eyes narrowing even further, Merle scoffed, pulling a large wrench out of his back pocket. The silent threat sent chills down Rick’s spine. “That shit’s easy enough to figure out. Nice try.”

Rick scoured his brain for other details Daryl had told him. “He said the day he disappeared that he’d knocked over your father’s jar. He didn’t say what was in it, but knowing what I know of Will Dixon, I’m willing to bet on moonshine. When Daryl knocked it over, he said your father went for the strap. Not a belt, but a strap.”

Merle’s eyes softened the slightest bit, and Rick continued. “He used to drag around your crossbow, because it was too heavy for him to actually lift, so you went out and bought him a smaller, lighter one.”

Lifting up scarred, oil stained hands, Merle fisted them in Rick’s shirt. “You better not be lying about this, Grimes. I might be on the straight and narrow now, but I still got lotsa friends who  _ ain’t.  _ Got me?”

Swallowing down what would have been a very unmanly noise, Rick nodded. Shane, on the other hand, still had his hand hovering over his glock. Maybe it was for the best, because telling Merle that Daryl was alive was the easy part.

Throwing Rick back, Merle reached into his pocket and took out a handful of keys. “Where the fuck is he?” Merle spat, his eyes still on Rick even as he rushed to lock the front door of the shop. It was sort of strange that Dale had given Merle the amount of trust required to run the place, but Rick held his tongue.

“He's with me. At my house.” Just as Merle darted to move past him and to whatever vehicle he owned, Rick carefully pressed a hand to his chest to stop him. “But you gotta know something first.”

“What you talkin’ ‘bout now?” Merle complained, his face starting to turn red again. “He hurtin’? You bust a cap in his ass? Got in trouble?”

Rick shook his head. “He’s fine now, but he hasn't always been. If we do this, I can't just let you run in and grab him. We gotta think this out.”

Merle snorted at that, shaking his head. “I know my baby brother, Piglet. He ain't a coward. Lemme see ‘em!”

“You haven’t known your baby brother since he was what?” Rick pressed. “Ten years old? Eleven? He’s a grown man now, and he’s been through some horrible things. Things I need to explain to you before I take you to see him.”

“Fuck that,” Merle growled, knocking Rick’s hand away and striding over to an old beat up truck, the heels of his boots crunching loudly on the gravel. “I’m pretty sure I know where your house is, little pig, so I’m gonna head over there. If there’s somethin’ you just  _ have _ to tell me, get the fuck in the truck.”

Rick glanced at Shane, and his shoulders drooped. “Guess I’m riding with Merle then.” He glanced over to the truck, and then back at Shane. “Would’ve been nice to have backup.”

“Make it work,” Shane grimaced. “Hey, bright side is, he’s driving, so he won’t be able to punch you. Hard, anyway.”

“Thanks, Shane. Really. You give me so much confidence.”

Merle banged down on the horn, and stuck his head out of his truck window. “You got about ten seconds to get in the fuckin’ truck before I leave without you.”

Beating back the idea of just jumping into Shane’s car and speeding off, Rick turned towards the beat up truck that looked moments away from rusting through. He took in a deep breath, mustered up all the confidence he could, then marched on to his doom. 

As soon as Rick closed the passengers door, Merle stomped on the gas and tore out of the lot. Any other time, Rick would have demanded he pull over.

Right now he just wanted to survive the day.

Rick had had a lot of training. He’d been through several high speed pursuit, and they were pretty intense, especially with Shane at the wheel, but this was the first time Rick had nearly gotten nearly carsick. It was humiliating and Merle probably wouldn't let him forget it anytime soon, but the other man had already had jumped out of the truck and raced to Rick’s front door.

“Merle, slow up a bit,” Rick wheezed, leaning against the truck as he tried to calm his roiling stomach. He had half a mind to arrest Merle for assault on an officer. Again.

“Open the fuckin’ door! I don’t give a shit if you have to do it with your damn paws! Open it  _ now!” _ Merle shouted from the doorstep, his meaty fist pounding on the wood.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, Negan looming over Merle, and scowling. “What the fucking  _ fuck _ is your  _ problem?” _

“Outta my way!” Merle growled, shouldering his way past Negan, and making his way into the house. “Daryl! Where the fuck are you?”

Rick jogged up to Negan, and patted his shoulder. “He’s Daryl’s brother. He uh… I got the basic explanation out. Didn’t seem to phase him too much. Said he’s seen it before.”

Negan just stared at Rick, a disapproving frown on his face. “You don’t think it would’ve been a good idea to prepare Daryl for this first? Jesus, Rick.”

“I didn’t think he was going to jump in his truck and drive right over here! I thought we’d have more time to do...whatever it is we needed to do.” Rick pinched at the bridge of his nose, and grumbled about impatient, hair trigger rednecks under his breath.

Shane walked up behind them and said, “I don’t want to alarm you, but does it seem a little too quiet in there to anyone else?”

Rick’s head jerked up and his eyes darted to the archway that led into the living room. Swallowing down his apprehension, he started walking that way. What he saw was definitely not what he expected. Merle was seated on the couch, and Blue’s head was resting on his thigh. Merle’s hand was draped over Blue’s back, and he was murmuring nearly silent words into Blue’s ear.

Rick was keenly aware of Negan’s glare burning into the back of his head, but that didn't matter right now, not at the moment. Not as he watched the two brothers on the couch. Blue's eyes were closed, but he looked… tired. If a dog could look tired, that is.

He watched as Merle ran his hand up and down Blue's back, running his fingers through the fur and finding the numerous scars that laced beneath. Merle’s jaw clenched up momentarily, before he reached out and moved his arms properly around Blue.

“Get his shit together, I'll pick it up later,” Merle grunted as he lifted up the heavy dog, but not more than a few seconds after those words, Blue let out a sharp cry and began to struggle.

Being the large dog he was, Blue had no problems pushing himself free and rushing to the corner of the living room. He spun around to face his brother, and did what Rick had only seen once or twice in his life; snarl. 

His lips peeled back to expose his sharp teeth and his fur bristled out, and he started barking. His intense gaze soon flashed to Rick, and it immediately made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

The barks were directed at him, angry, intense barking with snarls mixed in between. Rick didn't need Daryl to be human to understand.

_ You lied to me. You said you wouldn't leave. You promised. _

“Hey!” Merle snapped, reaching out and trying to grab Blue's snout. Blue tore himself away and snapped his jaws at Merle. A warning that Merle obviously wasn't listening to.

“The fuck are you trying to do?” Negan roared behind Rick, shoving him the side and stomping into the living room. “I don't give a shit who you are, you aren't taking him!”

“Negan-” Rick started, only for the other man to cut him off. 

“No, Rick! No! Look at him!” Negan said, gesturing to Blue. “Does he look like he wants to leave? And you’re just gonna let this asshole take him?”

“He’s Daryl’s brother. I can’t keep him here. Not anymore. Not after what he-” Rick clamped his jaw shut and tried to look anywhere but Negan and Daryl.

“What? After what?” Negan growled, advancing on Rick. “What is going on?”

Rick firmed his jaw, and jutted his chin out. “It doesn’t matter. Merle is his brother, and Daryl belongs with him. Not me.”

Negan stared at Rick open mouthed. “I can’t believe you’re doing this shit,” he said. “Doesn’t it matter what Daryl wants?”

Looking away from the accusation in Negan’s eyes, Rick shook his head. “No,” he murmured, stepping forward and starting to gather up some of the things he’d bought Blue. “No, it really doesn’t.”

“You’re gonna regret this, Rick.”   
  
Rick looked up at Negan, and sighed. “Maybe I will. But this is how it has to be right now. It’s the only way it can be.”

Picking up Blue’s leash, Rick let his fingers rub across the smooth material. He had to keep telling himself that this was the right thing to do. Daryl needed to be more than just Rick’s dog. He needed to be human. Have experiences with his brother, do what normal people did, without having to deal with the added pressure of Rick. “Here,” he said, holding out the leash in Merle’s direction. “If he won’t leave on his own, this’ll help.”

“I guess I was wrong about you,” Negan said, his mouth set in a firm line. “You are a prick, after all.” After dropping those words into the silent room, Negan turned on his heel, and walked out, slamming the door so hard, Rick swore he felt the house shake.

The barking paused for a moment, before there was a low whine. A pitiful, horrendous sound like someone was ripping Blue’s heart out through his throat. But Rick refused to look back at Blue, not when the whines turned into desperate cries and yelps, and not when he heard Merle struggling not only put the collar on, but to hold Blue still enough that the leash didn’t get torn from his hand.

Even Shane was becoming uncomfortable with the noise, and he turned and walked to the kitchen if only to get out of the tension filled room.

“Dammit, Daryl! C'mon!” Merle groaned, and Rick heard the sound of nails dragging against carpet and wood.

Better get the rest of Blue's things. Make it a clean break.

Halfway through gathering up the numerous toys Rick had bought for Blue, the dog he no longer had, Daryl went quiet. It was like he realized that Rick wasn't changing his mind. He was serious. Rick found a random box and dropped the toys inside, then pushed it towards the front door.

“Take care of him,” Rick grunted, managing to catch Merle’s eye for just a moment and then forcing his feet to take him to the kitchen. He needed out of that room.

Not more than a few seconds after entering the kitchen he heard the front door open and close. At that same moment, he felt his limbs grow heavy. Blue was gone. Out of his life. Rick didn't have to worry anymore.

Rick collapsed into a chair, resting his head in the cradle of his arms, the same way he’d done yesterday. But now he just…

All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep for a week. Pretend that losing Blue-losing  _ Daryl- _ didn’t hurt as much as it did.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Rick jerked his head up, looking at Shane in confusion.

Shane took a seat across from Rick and ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, Rick, I get why you made the decision you did, I really do. Daryl needs to experience more of the world, blah blah, whatever. But… I dunno, man. He really didn’t want to leave. I think there are claw marks in the hall now.”

“I really,  _ really  _ can’t deal with this right now.” Rick grimaced, and pushed his chair away from the table. “I’m going to go to my bedroom, take a couple pills, and try to sleep all this shit away.”

“I know I’m not the type of guy that usually offers mental health advice, but I don’t think that’s going to work out. You can’t just ignore it, and expect it to go away.”

Rick looked at Shane, and in that moment he felt every single one of his thirty-five years pressing down on his shoulders. “Right now, that’s just about all I can do.”


	22. Rehomed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick didn't say goodbye. Maybe that meant that Daryl still had a chance? He won't give up, because Rick didn't give up on him when he needed help.

Rick hadn’t even said goodbye. Hadn’t even looked at him. The last person Daryl saw before Merle drove him away was Negan. Negan waited for him outside.

  
He’d almost changed back when Negan dropped to his knees in the grass and grabbed onto him, and all Daryl wanted was to howl that he didn't want to go. Even if Rick didn't want him, he wanted Negan. Lucille. Hell, _Shane._ He didn't want to leave everything he knew.

Again.

Negan told him that his door would always be open. That Daryl could come back if anything happened. To come back even if nothing happened. That certainly hadn't made Merle happy, judging by the way he had yanked on Daryl’s leash.

All Daryl could do was whimper and swipe his long tongue over Negan’s cheek. Then, that was it. Merle took him away. He put the box of whatever Rick had given him in the back of the truck, and Daryl stared through the back window of Merle’s truck, watching Negan, and the houses, and the neighborhood he’d grown to love grow smaller and smaller.

Daryl tried to track the houses and streets they went by. Tried to find any single landmark to tell him where they were going, but they all muddled together in minutes. Merle was going too fast, and making too many turns, almost like was trying to make sure Daryl could never find his way back.

Daryl's heart sank in his chest when Merle slowed down near something familiar. A trailer park.

Shuddering, Daryl couldn't help but think about Pa. Right after Momma died, they’d lived in one of these. All three of them. Pa always took the bed, leaving Merle and Daryl to fight over the spare mattress. Daryl never won that fight, and he got stuck sleeping on the lumpy couch that he could never get comfortable on.

“Get you settled in, and then you gotta change back f'me. See your handsome face, Darleena!” Merle chuckled as they drove deeper into the park, but Daryl didn't move. Just watched the trailers pass by outside the window.

In the awkward silence, Merle snorted. “Why the long face?”

Daryl huffed.

“You idiot, we ain't living there! I might be white trash but I ain't trailer park trash! Not anymore!”

Jerking his head up, Daryl looked up at Merle with wide eyes. Really? Merle had a home? A _real_ home?

Excitement coursed through Daryl as he jumped up in the seat, pressing his nose to the glass. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe Merle lived somewhere nice like Rick. He would have a bed. A _real_ bed!

Then Merle pulled up to a building that had a long line of doors with numbers on them. It reminded Daryl of the hospital hallways.

“Here we go,” Merle grunted as he pulled into a parking space right in front of one of the doors, and Daryl deflated into his seat.

Pulling the keys out of the ignition, Merle turned to look at Daryl. “I know it ain’t much, but it’s better than a trailer. And it backs up right on the woods. I still got a crossbow you can drag around. Hell, you can just have it. I was never any good with the damn thing anyway.”

Daryl perked up at the mention of the crossbow. He remembered the small one Merle had gotten him before he’d turned into Blue and lost just about everything. He’d spent hours in the woods with it. The night before he’d shifted for the first time, he’d finally bagged something bigger than a squirrel. Pa had even given him a rough slap on the back when he’d seen the twenty pound turkey slung over Daryl’s shoulder. They’d eaten well that night. 

Leaning into the truck window, Merle smirked at Daryl. “Planning on sittin’ in the truck all night? I got beer and some backstrap inside. Cook us up some dinner, and you can tell ole Merle what you been up to all these years.” He gave Daryl a pointed look. “‘Course, you’re gonna need to have hands if you’re gonna hold on to the beer.”

Daryl huffed, and stood up on the seat, walking over to the window, and nudging Merle out of the way with his muzzle. Jumping out of the window, he landed squarely on the ground, then stared at the door.

“What? Change back.”

Daryl grumbled and shook his head. Negan taught him to never ever shift in public, because being a shifter was a secret.

“Ah, shit that's right, you're naked under all that fur, ain't'cha?”

Well, that too.

Merle stepped up to the door and fished out his keys, unlocking it as Daryl tried to remember the number on the door. He perked up when Merle opened the door, then looked back at him with a lopsided grin. “Welcome home, baby brother.”

Following Merle’s wide swept arm inside, Daryl took a look around. It wasn’t bad, really. Merle seemed to be cleaner than he’d been when Daryl was a kid. It was one long room, carpeted on one end, with lineloem in the kitchen, and a couple doors leading off into other rooms.

“We can fix up the other bedroom for you. Get you a bed and all that shit. For now though, that there couch pulls out into a bed. You can deal with that for a couple nights, right?”

Daryl thought about the couch he used to sleep on, and winced internally, but he nodded again anyway, and took the first few steps inside, sniffing at the carpet. No drugs. Nothing yet, at least. Maybe Merle had actually cleaned himself up.

Probably not. For as long as he had known Merle, he had been on drugs.

In the next few minutes, Daryl took the time to properly sniff almost every inch of the living room. He smelled pot, but he'd smelled that on Merle the day Merle had hit him with that wrench. There was the familiar sting of alcohol, but it was old. Maybe an beer stain or moonshine stain on the carpet. Content with his search, Daryl glanced up at Merle as he walked back into the living room.

“Got you something to cover up with,” Merle said, tossing some clothes on the couch. “You still a shrimpy little bunny rabbit? Gonna be up to my shoulders now?”

Daryl snorted. He pawed at the collar around his throat before Merle finally realized he needed to take it off. Then, with just a few clicks of bones, he broke free of Blue and into Daryl.

Merle’s eyes got so wide that Daryl feared they would pop out of his skull.

“Fucks sake, put that away!” Merle shouted, grabbing at the clothing he’d set aside and throwing it in Daryl's general direction.

Grunting, Daryl pulled on the loose pants, but didn’t bother with the shirt. Negan said that part wasn't as important. Slumping back on the couch, he smiled sheepishly at Merle. “Grown.”

“Shit, you did finally grow into those arms, didn’t you? Shouldn’t have any problems dragging the crossbow around then,” Merle said, crossing the room and grabbing the weapon from where it was stashed in the closet. He tossed it lightly to Daryl.

Running his fingers over the smooth lines of the bow, Daryl hummed softly. “Remember this,” he said, plucking at the string. “Got a turkey once. Pa was proud.”

“Pa weren’t proud of much that didn’t have to do with ‘shine and huntin’.” Merle sat down on the couch next to Daryl and reached over to ruffle Daryl’s shaggy hair. “Still got that mop on your head. Though you would’a grown out of that by now.”

Daryl scowled, and pushed Merle’s hand away. “S’just hair.”

“Need to cut that shit. You look like a girl.”

Daryl smirked, and flexed his muscles like Shane had taught him to do. “No muscles on girls like on me. Shane said girls like muscles.”

“That they do, baby brother! That they do! We need to take you out and find you a girl. Didn’t have much chance to getcha one all these years, I bet.”

Daryl shook his head. “Don’t like girls. Like boys.”

Merle’s face dropped and his brow furrowed momentarily. “Shit, seriously?” he sighed, flopping back into the plush couch that, amazingly, didn't look like he’d dragged it from the dump. Merle pressed his palms to his face and groaned.

“Isn't bad,” Daryl protested softly, slowly curling himself into the couch a few feet away. Rick said personal space. Had to give personal space.

“I know, but Pa’s rolling around in his box like a zombie.”

Daryl just huffed. Pa was dead, so couldn't do anything to him at this point. Couldn't beat him no more.

“Fine,” Merle sighed, then stood up straight again, a grin working it’s way back across his face. “Let’s get you some dick, then. My treat.” Glancing over his shoulder at Daryl, Merle pointed a finger at him. “Just one, though. Ain't made of money, and we only got so many good male hookers in this town, and they ain't cheap.”

Daryl just tilted his head to the side. “Hookers?”

“Ah, shit, you got the head of a damn kid, don't you?” Merle groaned. He raised his hand and rubbed at his head, his brow furrowed. “Okay, what do we start with? ABC’s? Can you count? Know where to stick a dick?”

Feeling his face flush, Daryl nodded. “Remember how to read. Sort of. Slow. Counting, too. Slow.”

“I think one of my old girlfriends has a kid. Maybe she’s got some books you could look at. Refresh your memory, you know?”

“Like books. Rick read one to Carl. Liked it most. Old Dan and Little Ann.”

“Ain’t that the one about huntin’ raccoons?”

“Yes. Dan, Ann, and Billy. Woods, and hunting. Liked it.”

Merle snorted. “You must’a not got to the end yet. It don’t end that great. I’ll make a trip to town and get you a copy of it anyway. Just ‘cause.”

Daryl stared at Merle, and didn’t look away, even when Merle started squirming. “Why? Don’t owe me. Don’t have to.”

Refusing to meet Daryl’s eyes any more, Merle stood up and headed into the kitchen. “Think of it like a homecoming gift. I just found out the baby brother that I thought was dead for almost twenty years is alive.”

As Merle busied himself in the kitchen, Daryl watched him. This was a Merle he wasn’t familiar with. The Merle he remembered was jumpy, and strung out, always looking for his next high. This Merle, while obviously having the same quick temper, was relaxed. He seemed totally at ease in the kitchen, cooking up dinner for the both of them. Daryl eyed the cast iron pan warily, and rubbed at the still healing burn on his palm. Cast iron hurt.

“Soup’s on, baby brother. Come get it,” Merle called out a few minutes later, setting two plates on the small dining table next to two bottles of beer.

Once he’d sat down Daryl picked up the beer, and sniffed at it. He recoiled slightly, and set it back down, wiping at his nose. “Smells bad.”

“It’ll taste bad, too, ‘til you get used to it.”

“Why drink if it tastes bad?”

Merle shrugged. “Get a buzz. Get out of your head. Relax.” Merle squinted at Daryl, and gave him what Daryl thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it reminded Daryl of a shark he’d seen while he and Rick watched TV. “I ain’t like I used to be,” Merle said quietly. “I’m pretty straight and narrow now, if you can believe it. Got a respectable job. Don’t hardly drink, and only smoke a little pot occasionally, nothing harder than that. So, you don’t gotta worry about it, okay? I’m not gonna get shitfaced, and black out or anything like that.”

Deciding to believe Merle until he had a reason not to, Daryl smiled, and picked up his bottle of beer, holding it up and out like he’d seen Rick and Negan do. “Cheers,” he said, waiting for Merle to clink their bottles together.

Merle’s grin got even wider. “Cheers, Daryl. Welcome home.”

\---

Sleep had definitely decided to throw its middle finger up in Rick’s general direction. He’d been tossing and turning for at least the last two hours, and he was no closer to sleep. His thoughts were twisting around in his head like snakes, tangling up into one single scream. 

_What did you do?_

Groaning loudly, Rick pushed his face deeper into his pillow, turning his back to the empty space beside his bed. Where Blue used to sleep.

His entire house was nothing but a giant, aching reminder. Blue’s first time letting Rick rub his belly. Him hiding under the table in the laundry room. Sleeping on top of Rick’s clean clothes. The squeaky squirrel that he carried around the entire house, even when he knew it was driving Rick up the wall.

Over there was where Blue had given him the squirrel moments after Shane proclaimed that Blue would tear him to shreds. On that end of the couch is where he and Blue had curled up together for hours the night Rick came home after pulling a mangled child out of a burning car, crashed by her drunk mother. Blue let Rick hold him and cry, let out all the grief his job could bring.

Shit.

Rick threw the pillow against the wall and shuffled himself off the bed. Maybe he just needed to tire himself out. Maybe he would draw. That's it, he would draw. He flicked on the light in the living room and headed to the stack of sketchbooks still sitting on the floor. Maybe he would draw… Carl. 

_Shit._

The thought of his son only reminded Rick that he had to tell Carl that Blue was gone.

When he was walking to the kitchen to use the table, Rick stopped short. On the other side of the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard was...

Blue.

The dog was curled up in a ball, huddled against the glass. Rick’s immediate urge was to throw the door open, grab Blue, take him inside, make him another steak and beg him for forgiveness. 

He barely held himself back.

Instead he allowed himself time to think. He could just ignore him. Wait and hope that Daryl wandered back home. Could wake him up and drive him back to Merle’s. Could even tell Negan to pick him up if only to make sure Daryl had a safe place to sleep.

Against his better judgement, he did none of those things. Sliding open the door, Rick watched Blue scramble to his feet and eye him warily.

“Might as well come in, it’s too late to call anyone to come get you. You can stay Blue or shift and we can talk.” Rick ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly, and asking himself just what the hell he was doing. “If you want.”

Taking a few tentative steps forward, Blue nuzzled his head against Rick’s hand. Unable to help himself, Rick let his fingers curl into Blue’s fur, and let out a long sigh. Blue had only been gone for a few hours, and Rick already missed him something fierce. “Come on. I’ll make you some hot chocolate. Negan told me that you’ve developed a sweet tooth.”

Rick’s eyes widened when suddenly the fur he’d been rubbing his fingers over turned into skin. He jerked his fingers back like he’d been burned, and tried his damnedest not to look anywhere below Daryl’s waist.

“With marshmallows?” Daryl smiled at him, slowly standing to full height. “Like those, too.”

“Sure. I might even put in a few extra.”

Daryl grinned happily, and followed Rick into the kitchen, after reaching outside the door and grabbing a pair of pants to put on.

“Came prepared, I see.”

Daryl tilted his head to the side, pausing with one leg in the pants, and made an inquiring noise.

Rick pointed at the pants. “You brought clothes. Were you planning on shifting?”

“Dunno,” Daryl said, chewing on the corner of his thumbnail. “Just in case clothes. S’what Negan calls them.”

Pouring milk into a saucepan and turning on the stovetop, Rick snorted. “I bet Negan has just in case clothes hidden around his house, too. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve knocked on their front door, and had the feeling I’d interrupted something.”

“What?”

His brow furrowed, Rick looked away from the stove, and back at Daryl. “What?”

“What’d you interrupt?”

Rick flushed, and turned his attention back onto the gently heating milk, grabbing blindly for the small bag of chocolate chips he’d set off to the side. “Just… Nothing. Them playing a game.”

“Oh.” Daryl seemed content with that explanation, and Rick felt relief trickle through his body. He needed to make sure their conversation did not stray into personal territory. At least not that kind of personal territory.

Dumping in the chocolate chips, Rick’s gaze drifted back to Daryl.

He was sitting at the table, his chin resting on it. His eyes never strayed from Rick, and the unnerving stare he had as a dog seemed even more potent when he was human.

Clearing his throat, Rick looked back to the saucepan and gave the liquid a few stirs. “Why did you come back?” Rick asked, refusing to look at Daryl.

Daryl's voice was soft and hesitant. “Wanted to be back. ‘Pologize for…” Daryl gestured at Rick,  waving his hand up and down, before pressing the tips of his fingers against his lips. “Just…” Daryl sighed. “Wanna be home.”

It took all Rick had not to flinch. What was he thinking? Kicking Daryl out after almost a year of living together, just because he was a man? But his mind quickly listed all the other factors. Daryl wasn't just a dog. And his home was no longer with Rick.

“Your home is with Merle,” Rick said smoothly, only getting silence as a response. 

This wasn't a good conversation to have. Discarding several random, mundane topics of conversation, Rick finally looked over his shoulder at Daryl. “Thank you for apologizing,” he said, even though his gut remained twisted. This wasn't something Rick could brush off.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Rick placed a mug of hot chocolate on the table in front of Daryl. He immediately perked up, reminding Rick of all the times he’d gotten Blue his puppuccino. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but never quite materialized. Keep focused, Rick. This was not a reunion.

“You know you need to go back to Merle, right?”

“Don’t want to.” Daryl looked at Rick intently, and Rick was forcibly reminded of the first time he’d ever seen Blue, and the stare that felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

“I know you don’t.” Rick sighed, and reached out, resting his palm on Daryl’s broad shoulder. “But Merle is your brother. Your family. He’s spent all this time without you. You should give him a chance. Get to know him as an adult, and not like the child you used to be.”

Daryl nodded, but he looked unconvinced. “Told me he’d get me a book.”

Rick nodded.

  
“And a hooker.”

Rick, who had been taking a sip of his own hot chocolate, promptly spit it out all over the table, and Daryl. “What!?”

Wiping a hand across his face, Daryl frowned. “What’s a hooker?”

Rick flushed and stammered, not able to force a single word past the lump in his throat. This only reinforced his thoughts, however. Daryl was in no way ready to be intimate with anyone. Despite how much he looked the part. Rick let his eyes trail over those wide shoulders, and slowly slide down his torso. He squirmed slightly in his chair. No. Bad idea.

“Hookers aren’t something you should be thinking about. If Merle brings it up again, tell him I said that. And if he doesn’t listen, tell him I’ll drag his ass down to the station.”

“When can Blue go back? To station. When you're better?”

Rick managed to swallow his mouthful of cocoa this time, though his mind immediately went back to that picture. Setting down his mug, Rick cleared his throat. 

“Bl-Daryl. You can't go back. Not after…” Taking in a deep breath, Rick met Daryl's eyes. “After what you did to that man. You killed him, Daryl.”

Daryl didn't even blink. “Shot you. Shoulda died. Made him pay.”

“Daryl,” Rick grunted, refusing to allow Daryl to go on. “That's not an excuse. You-”

_“Shot_ you, Rick!” Daryl snarled, his eyes flashing. “He needed to die. Killed him. Hurt him like he hurt you. Do it all over again.”

Reaching out again, Rick carefully ran his hand up and down Daryl's arm, trying to soothe him. It worked with Blue, and it seemed to soothe Daryl as well, at least a little.

“Hey. Just take a breath. Okay?”

Daryl seemed to take that literally, sucking in a deep breath and holding it. As Rick started to wonder if he needed to tell Daryl to let it out, the other man exhaled in a sudden gust. Well, it worked. Daryl didn't have that frightening glint in his eyes anymore. 

“Do you remember all those people who hurt you? Who made you fight? While Hershel was fixing you up, I wanted to go back to all those people. Wanted to do to them exactly what they did to you and all those other dogs. But I didn't.” Daryl opened his mouth to speak, but Rick held up his hand.

“Do you know why I didn't?” When Daryl shook his head, Rick continued. “Because if I had, they would have gone free. They would be back on the streets, hurting more dogs. Hurting more people.”

Daryl swallowed and stared down at his mug. 

“Hurt you,” Daryl muttered, curling inwards in the chair. “Couldn't kill Morgan's. Killed yours.”

“You did and you saved me. And everyone else.” Rick carefully rested his hand atop Daryl's, giving a soft squeeze. “You brought him down before he could kill anyone else.”

Daryl shifted his gaze up to Rick for just a moment, then hesitantly opened his mouth. “Why's it okay sometimes? Okay with Morgan, not here. They're still bad.”

Rick sighed, and shook his head. “It was different over there. You were fighting in a war. It’s not like that here. You wouldn’t be in danger going out for a walk. You don’t need to protect yourself like that in this town.” Rick’s lip quirked up a bit, and he let out a short laugh. “Usually.”

“Do it again,” Daryl mumbled, a stubborn tilt to his chin. “Protect you.”

Daryl firmed his jaw, and took a deep breath before threading his fingers through Rick’s. He looked like he expected to be pushed away at any second, and Rick just didn’t have the heart to do it.

“C’mon,” Rick said, tugging lightly on Daryl’s hand. “You can sleep in Carl’s room tonight. I’ll give you a ride back to Merle’s in the morning.”

A defeated look on his face, Daryl nodded, following Rick out of the room. Once Rick had him settled, and was on his way out the door, Daryl spoke again.

“Mean it.” Daryl’s voice was rough, and his whisper was impossibly loud in the small room. “Do anything to protect you, Rick.”

“I believe you,” Rick whispered back before he shut the door, something unfurling in his chest that he refused to acknowledge. In the hallway, Rick let out a soft curse, and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’m so _fucked.”_


	23. Last Resorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months have passed since Daryl left the Grimes home to be with Merle. But night after night, he came back. Night after night, Rick welcomed him.
> 
> But not tonight.

What was he doing.

That sentence churned through his mind and made his stomach churn, but no matter how many times Rick tried to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing, it wouldn’t go away.. 

What was he  _ doing? _

Things didn't have to change. Things were going  _ great,  _ so why should he fuck it up now?

No, he knew why he needed to fuck it up. Because all this was heading straight down a road Rick did not want to go down.

It started small. Daryl would sit with Rick on the couch for a movie, as Daryl. Then, he would scoot a little closer, and Rick would let him. Then Daryl would get a little braver and move only inches away. Rick  _ still _ let him. By the end of the night, Daryl was usually asleep against his shoulder, with such a blissful expression on his face that it physically hurt Rick to pull away.

That wasn't all of it, no. Rick  _ wished  _ that was it. For months, Daryl had been showing up at the kitchen doors, in either form, waiting to be let in, and not  _ once _ did Rick turn him away.

This had to change. Because  _ Rick  _ was starting to change. There was a stubborn ache in his chest now, when he was alone. One that hadn’t been there before, and it couldn't be eased with Carl or Shane, or even Negan. And when he slept…

Rick wished he could call them nightmares. Could say he woke up in a cold sweat, horrified at the images playing through his head, the ones that stayed inexplicably sharp despite their ephemeral nature, and were never far from the forefront of his mind. But he didn't, and they weren't nightmares. They were  _ desires  _ Rick had no right to have. His mental image of Negan had been replaced, and Daryl had invaded his thoughts. Those intense eyes, and broad shoulders. His rugged body, still so beautiful, not despite, but  _ because of _ his scars, and skin so warm that a single touch was enough to set Rick on fire.

No.

No, this would end tonight. No matter what he had to do, Rick had to end this. It was to protect the both of them, he told himself. There was no other way.

A sharp knock against the sliding glass doors made Rick stop his incessant pacing in the living room, and a rock settle into his stomach. Daryl was here. The same time, every night.

Swallowing, Rick stepped into the kitchen and looked through the glass.

Blue. Standing on his hind legs, front paws pressed onto the door. He had his nose to the glass, fogging it with fast breaths, but even in the darkness of the night, Rick couldn't miss his wolfish grin.

Of course, the new episode of South Park was tonight. He could see the wagging tail from here. Daryl would be expecting popcorn and a fun night of television. It only made walking to the doors that much harder, knowing what Rick was about to do.

The same grin brought Rick back to the first day Carl came home, not knowing that Blue was gone. Rick had sat him down with Lori and gave the only story he could think of; Blue's handler found out where Blue was and Rick gave him back. It all happened so fast that Rick couldn't even let Carl say goodbye. Maybe it would be the same tonight.

Let it be quick.

Grabbing onto the handle, Rick parted the glass just enough to let himself through. Blue jumped back, grinning and obviously waiting for Rick to open the door wider. But instead, Rick shut it behind him.

“Daryl, we can't keep doing this.”

Blue blinked, his grin disappearing. All he did was tilt his head to the side, a silent question as he turned his eyes back to the closed door.

“You can’t…” Rick groaned, and tugged on an errant curl that had fallen across his forehead. “You can’t keep coming over here every night.”

Making an enquiring whine, Blue crept closer to Rick and pressed himself against Rick’s leg.

Hating himself, Rick pulled away. “You can’t keep doing that either. It was fine when you were just a dog,” Rick let out a sudden bark of laughter. “When you were a dog. But you were never just a dog, were you? Even if I didn’t know.”

Rick refused to actually look at Blue, but he couldn’t miss the sound of him shifting. He’d gotten much better at it since Rick had first witnessed it, and it seemed nearly effortless for him now.

“New South Park, Rick,” Daryl insisted, tugging at Rick’s sleeve. “And popcorn.”

“Daryl, no.” Rick pulled his arm away from Daryl’s grasp, still not daring to look the other man in the eye. He was sure all the filthy things he’d been thinking about Daryl, things he’d been thinking about for quite a while, if he was honest with himself, would be completely visible in his eyes. “No South Park, no popcorn. Go home.”

Raising his hand to his mouth, Daryl started gnawing on his thumbnail. “This is home.”

Rick turned his back on Daryl and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the door. “This isn’t your home. Merle’s apartment is your home. Has been for months now.”

Daryl wrinkled his lip and scowled. “Keeps talking about hookers. Don’t like it there.” He rested a large hand on Rick’s shoulder, and Rick gritted his teeth. “Like it here. With you.”

“Stop,” Rick grunted, forcing his shoulder away from Daryl's reach while still positioning himself in front of the door. He wouldn't put it past Daryl to just walk inside like this was still his home. Rick wasn't so blind he didn’t notice the growing accumulation of clothing Daryl had left behind. It was like he was working his way back into the house one article of clothing at a time.

Turning to face Daryl, Rick focused only on his eyes. He refused to look anywhere else. Not at his body, or his reactions, only his eyes. “This isn't your home, Daryl.”

“Rick-”

_ “No.” _

His shout echoed through the empty yard, and Daryl physically flinched and took a step back. But all Rick could think about was what he had to do to drive Daryl away. Make sure he never came back, because… Rick didn't know how much longer he could control himself.

“No, Daryl. Go home,” Rick growled, forcing his voice to harden. Only his eyes. Nowhere else. Make this stick.

Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Rick firmed his jaw. “I don't want you here anymore, Daryl. Go home! Get out of here!”

Daryl’s shoulders slumped as he looked up at Rick with wide, stricken eyes, and Rick swore he could feel his heart tearing itself to pieces inside his chest.

“Don’t want me?” Daryl said, tapping at the center of his chest. He nodded, like he’d expected this to happen, and when he spoke again, it was barely audible. “Want Blue? Blue can stay?”

“No,” Rick whispered, and they way he was hyper focused on Daryl’s eyes made it easy to see the exact second that all the faith he’d had in Rick was crushed. Rick told himself that it was for the best, that Daryl deserved a chance to be a normal man, have normal experiences without a small town sheriff’s deputy following in his wake.

Jerking his gaze away from Rick, Daryl started to shiver, curling in on himself. “No,” he whined, shaking his head fiercely, like he was trying to deny everything Rick was saying. He pressed his hands to his ears and shook again. “No…!”

Their eyes met for a split second, but felt like an eternity. All Rick could see was the betrayal, the anguish, and there must have been something Daryl saw in his own. He stumbled closer, and grabbed at Rick's shirt, almost collapsing to his knees.

Then he begged.

Tears were rushing down his cheeks as he begged, saying that he was trying to be good for Rick, begging to know what he did wrong. His words were caught in sobs and cries, and they devolved into the constant phrase. He was a good boy.

Daryl was a good boy. And Daryl didn't want to go.

It was then that Rick knew he had to break Daryl the only way he knew how. “No, you're not!” Rick snapped, even as the words strangled him, and even as it forced tears down his face with how much they hurt. “Bad!”

Daryl stiffened up and turned silent. All Rick could hear was his shivering breath. Staring down into his wide, stricken eyes, Rick clenched his jaws tight in one last attempt to hold back the words. But he needed to. If he didn't, then Daryl will never be free of him. Daryl needed to move on.

“You're a bad dog. Get out!”

Rick almost wished Daryl would yell at him, because the silence was louder than any scream Daryl could rip from his lungs. Then his hold on Rick's shirt slackened, then fell away as Daryl sank to his knees, eyes to the ground. His jaw hung open, but nothing would come out. They stood there, frozen, for much too long, but as Rick sucked in a breath to try to force out the words one last time, Daryl shrank down onto the patio.

His body twitched and shuddered back into Blue, and he did not raise his head. Instead, he turned around and tore out of the yard, his coat blending into darkness, and then he was gone.

Rick leaned back against the door, his head impacting the glass with a solid thump, and a sob building in the back of his throat. The tears still dripped down his face, burning like acid. He stared at the night sky, silently praying that he had done the right thing.

“Well, that was  _ fucking _ stupid.”

He didn’t even have the energy to move his head and glare at Negan. “Eavesdrop much?” Rick said, his voice sounding hollow in his own ears.

“I heard fucking yelling, so yeah. Gotta make sure the neighborhood is safe, and all that shit.” Negan opened the gate, and walked across the lawn to stand in front of Rick. “Why’d the  _ fuck _ you do that to him? Tell him you didn't want him?”

“Because I don’t-”

“Bullshit.  _ Bullshit, _ Rick. A blind man could see how important he is to you. So tell me the truth. Why?”

Rick grimaced, and shot a cursory glance back at Negan before shrugging his shoulders and sliding open the door. “None of your business,” he said, in that same dull, lifeless voice. “Now get out of my yard.”

Shutting the door firmly behind him, Rick pointedly clicked the lock, and closed the blinds. Making his way into the living room, ignoring the loud cursing from his backyard, Rick curled up on the couch. He’d been laying there for several minutes, when his eyes focused on something that had gotten wedged between the cushions. 

Daryl’s squirrel.

His breath hitched, and Rick reached out with slightly numb fingers, wrapping them around the toy. Tucking it in close to his chest, Rick muffled a sob, and kept telling himself that he’d done the right thing. Maybe if he said it enough, he’d believe it.

* * *

There were few days in his life that Rick could claim were absolutely miserable. One was the day that Lori handed him the divorce papers. Another was the first day alone without Carl after their separation. The few days after Rick threw Daryl easily matched that level of misery.

Honestly, Rick had been hoping that Daryl wouldn't listen, that he would come back the next night a little pissed off but still wanting to watch South Park. But that didn't happen.

His kitchen door was still locked, with no nose pressed against the glass and smearing it insistently.

Rick only walked outside a few times, just to get his mail. Each and every one of those times, he could  _ feel  _ Negan staring at him. Rick only looked him in the eye once, and that had been enough to compound his misery. Because in Negan’s eyes, he saw blame. Saw the turmoil he had caused. Saw his own misery reflected back at him. And it was all true and cold.

That stupid squirrel toy had migrated to his bed, after he could no longer lay on the couch without his arm becoming extremely sore. So that was how he spent his time; staring at the spot on the rug where Blue had slept, and hating himself with every fiber of his being.

By the fourth day of his self-inflicted misery, Rick had had enough. He jumped into his car, sitting the squirrel in the passenger's seat, where maybe Daryl would ride back with him.

Maybe they could agree on something. Once a week. Weekends. Some sort of idiotic custody agreement. Or maybe Rick would see hatred in Daryl's eyes and know for sure that the damage was done. Rick just needed to know for certain if it was too late.

The drive to Merle’s place wasn't terribly long, but every rotation of the tires felt slower than the last, the road stretching on and on. Conversations and apologies ran through his thoughts, but nothing sounded right. Begging? Would Rick be willing to beg? 

It didn't matter. Rick just had to see him. Even if it was just one last time, a proper goodbye, then it would ease some of his ache to know that the last words Rick would say to him wouldn't be that he didn't want him.

Rick didn't care that the parking lot was nearly empty as he jumped out of his car. Nor did he let himself feel the creeping dread as he pounded on Merle’s door. Just someone, please. Answer him.

“Daryl?” Rick called through the door, pounding his fist against it twice more. “Daryl, I'm sorry! Please, open the door!”

No answer.

“Daryl, please!”

Still no answer.

Gritting his teeth together, Rick took a few steps back. Breaking and entering was not something he’d intended to do today, but Rick would face the consequences later. He just had to see him.

Had to see Daryl one last time.

“What's with the fuckin’ noise?”

A grizzled voice stopped Rick before he could do any potential damage, and Rick looked up to see an older man standing in the doorway two apartments over. A neighbor.

His shoulders slumping, Rick focused his attention on him. “I'm looking for Merle and Daryl Dixon. Are they out?” he panted lightly, after taking a moment to suck in a deep breath. Calm down. They could be doing anything. Working at the shop. Daryl liked the shop. Told Rick all about how Merle was teaching him about engines, and how he learned by watching the men in the army, too.

The older man furrowed his brow, scowling. He leaned his shoulder against the door and rubbed at his peppered beard. “Yeah, they're out.”

See? Just out. Rick turned to his car, already berating himself for being so brash and not thinking anything through.

“Moved out two days ago.”

Rick stopped dead. Raising his head again, he stared blankly at the other man.

The man shrugged, pulling a cigarette out of his back pocket. “Yeah, bastards just up and left. Left some nice furniture, though. ‘Parently paid out the lease. Better than most folks nowadays.”

Somehow, Rick managed to thank the man, and stumble back to his car. When he pulled back into his driveway, he realized he had absolutely no recall of the trip back, just a blank space in his memory. Shaking his head, he yanked open the door, and fell out of the car, his palms scraping painfully against the concrete.

Wide eyed, Rick looked around, not really seeing anything at all. A low voice off to the side grabbed his attention, and, somehow, he managed to lock eyes with Negan.

“Found out, huh?”

Rick shook his head like a dog, like Daryl, and refused to meet Negan’s eyes again. “It’s not true,” he said, his voice cracking. “He’s not gone. He can’t be. I wanted to…”

Negan scoffed. “Wanted to what? Apologize for throwing him away like a piece of fucking trash? For treating him like he didn’t know his own mind? For fucking him up when all he wanted was to be  _ good _ for you?”

Nodding and shaking his head at the same time, Rick heaved himself to his feet, and grabbed hold of Negan’s arm. “You knew they left. Where did they go?”

When Negan only scowled at him, Rick snarled and grabbed at his other arm, squeezing as hard as he could and shaking him. “Where the  _ fuck _ did they go?”

Breaking his hold as easily as if he were a toddler, Negan shoved him away, and Rick fell onto the concrete once again. His bloodied palms left bright smears of red on the concrete, and for a second, Rick couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

Negan squatted down, and leveled Rick with a deadly stare. “The shit you did to Daryl that night? That was fucked up. You were his whole world,  _ Rick. _ You meant more to him than anyone he’d met in the last twenty years. And you scraped him off like he was no more important than some gum on your fucking shoe.”

Rick’s mouth worked, trying to cobble together some reason,  _ any reason, _ that he’d done what he did, but came up empty. The muscles in his arms giving out, Rick let himself list down on to the driveway. The painful thunk his head made when it hit the concrete was nothing less than he deserved.

Negan just snorted as he stood back up straight, leaning over him. “He came to say goodbye,  _ Prick. _ Tried to get him to just walk across the fucking yard to you, but no. Said you didn't want him anymore.”

Kicking at a stone, Negan took a few steps away. “You fucked up  _ real  _ bad, Prick.” Anger suddenly flared up in his voice, and Rick had no problem envisioning his clenching fist, his scowl and narrowed eyes. “You fucked him up  _ so  _ bad, he wouldn’t even stay for a minute because he was  _ scared  _ of you! We offered to take him in, let him think, right there! Even his damn brother!”

Negan was circling him now, like a vulture. Rick just let him. He deserved it. Deserved everything.

“Fuck you, Rick. Lucy's broken hearted, and what are you gonna do now? Lay there? Fucking boohoo your ass off?”

As Negan continued to grill Rick into the ground, Rick started to pull himself to his feet. Blood was still dripping down from his palms, leaving familiar spots on the concrete. Rick couldn't think. All he could do was let Negan’s words echo through his head.

What was he going to do? Walk inside, curl up on the couch with Daryl’s squirrel and just… Lay there until the end of the time? Maybe he should.

Dragging himself up, Rick just stared at the ground the entire walk to his door. Negan's words followed him, the accusations and promises of regret. Somehow, Rick managed to make his way inside his bedroom, and with bloody palms and all, just crawled his way inside. Maybe everything would go away if he just stayed in bed and never came back out.

Maybe.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” the words echoed in his head.

Rick’s shoulders stiffened, and the tears started to spill again.

_ “Prick.” _


	24. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a day goes by that Rick doesn't think about Daryl. But maybe he had suffered for his sins long enough and fate will finally give him one more chance.

_ Five Years Later  _

Walking into his house after another long shift, Rick scrubbed a hand across his face. Brushing his fingers through his wiry beard, he contemplated shaving, but quickly discarded the idea. He just couldn’t be bothered.

A shrill beep had him reaching for his cell phone, and after thumbing open the message, a smile grew on his face almost against his will. Shane. Staring at the picture his partner had sent, Rick thought about all the changes Shane had gone through in the last few years.

First, he finally met a woman who could put up with his dumb ass. Someone he didn’t relegate to one night stand status, and brush off. Second, Andrea had actually managed to get Shane to marry her. Third… The third reason was the best change of all. Rick ran his finger lightly over the screen of his cell phone, and over the chubby, red cheeks, and laughing dark eyes of Shane and Andrea’s daughter.

Judy was nearly two years old now, and Rick would be lying if he said she hadn’t had a large part in pulling him out of the destructive spiral he’d plunged into after… Well, after.

Rick shook his head, texted Shane back before sliding his phone onto the coffee table and collapsing onto the couch. He should really make himself something to eat, but as he glanced in the direction of the kitchen, he couldn’t force his limbs to move. Rick’s eyes slid shut, and he sighed. He’d just rest here for a while then. This was fine. He'd eaten lunch. Who needed dinner?

Rick took a few minutes to fully embrace the softness of his couch before he fumbled for his phone again. Maybe he would order pizza. That would be easy enough. He unlocked his phone and opened the calling app--because, yes, he had the pizza place number saved in his phone, it came in handy-- and his eyes scanned his contact list.

Negan. He hadn't talked to him in a while. A month, maybe?

After what happened, Negan had turned to stone against Rick. There were murderous glares thrown across the fence, the first few months being the worst. There were times that Rick didn't feel comfortable in his own home, knowing just how much Negan despised him.

It softened eventually, though they were far from having picnics on the weekend again. Daryl had practically been adopted by Negan and Lucille. That was why it didn't make sense to Rick that Daryl wouldn't tell them where he'd gone. Huffing, Rick stared down at the name, then cursed under his breath. Fuck it. The worst that could happen was Negan would say no. Again.

Holding the phone up to his ear, Rick waited. It took almost four rings before the gruff voice on the other end picked up.

_ “This better be good.” _

Sensing that he was interrupting something important, Rick swallowed thickly. “Hey, uh, Negan. Just wanted to see how you were doing. How Lucille’s doing. Celebrating remission soon, right? Six years?”

Rick cringed at himself.

_ “Haven't heard from him,  _ Prick. _ Quit clogging up my phone. Got important shit I'm waiting on.” _

Another cringe. That cold tone was back. “I-I just thought that maybe he would’ve dropped by at some point. Said hello. You haven't seen him at all?”

_ “No.” _

“Hasn't called, hasn't written, hasn't-”

_ “Rick. You fucked this up. I ain't helping you get your ass out of it.” _

“You know I have to keep trying.”

Negan sighed on the other end of the line, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer.  _ “Yeah. And I have to keep saying no.  _ You _ know that.” _

Rick nodded, and after a few seconds of silence said, “I do.” Taking a deep breath Rick threw out one last question. “He’s okay, right? I’m not asking where he is, or for any details. Just tell me if he’s safe. Happy. Please.”

Pulling the phone away from his ear after several seconds of silence to check that the call hadn’t dropped, Rick almost dropped the phone when Negan’s gruff voice spoke again.  _ “He’s safe. I dunno about the happy part, but he’s not  _ un _ happy. If that makes any sense.” _

Biting down on his knuckle so hard he almost drew blood, Rick nearly groaned in relief. He felt some of the tension he’d been carrying around in his shoulders for the past five years slowly uncoil and slip away. “Thanks, Negan.”

_ “Maybe now I’ll avoid the monthly inquisition, huh?”  _ Negan laughed loudly, and Rick heard him mumbling something about monthly visitors in the background, followed by a smack and a grunt.  _ “Well, shit, she didn’t think that was nearly as funny as I did.” _

Sharing the laugh, because he was sure Negan would punch him through the phone if he didn't, Rick sank back into the couch. Maybe he could rest easier now. “Thank you,” he murmured into the phone, only to hear Negan snort on the other side.

Ending the call moments later, Rick closed his eyes again.

Daryl was happy somewhere, or, well, not unhappy. More importantly, he was safe. Maybe in a home with people who loved him. People he considered family. Even if it was only Merle, Rick could still see how much the older redneck cared for his brother. As long as Negan knew that, and surely he wouldn't sugarcoat  _ anything  _ for Rick, then that was all that mattered.

The next thing Rick heard was the door opening. Somewhere in the back of his mind, all he could think of was that  _ he  _ had come home. That Negan had given up on hiding Daryl and Rick was finally going to see him again.

Jerking up so fast that his head spun, Rick clamored to look over the edge of the couch, only to deflate immediately.

Wasn't Daryl. There was no reason  _ for  _ it to have been Daryl, but Rick was disappointed all the same.

“Hey, Dad,” Carl said as he dropped his bookbag right beside the door, already kicking off his shoes. It was one of the few days that Rick was home before Carl got out of school. He had been at soccer practice, something that Rick had completely forgotten. He winced. Food should have been on the table already.

“Hey, sport,” Rick sighed as he reached for his phone again. “I was just about to order pizza. Did you want anything special?”

“Just the usual,” Carl replied, nudging his grass-stained cleats to the side with his toe. Walking into the living room, Carl dropped down beside Rick on the sofa.

Rick immediately wrinkled his nose in mock disgust, pressing his hand to his face. “Nuh uh,  shower first!” Rick complained, getting an exacerbated moan from Carl in return, something he was all too familiar with. Dragging himself to his feet like his body was suddenly made of lead, Carl huffed away.

Things had gotten better with Carl after the visitation rules had been redone, with Rick gaining near full custody of Carl. Not to say that Lori didn't want Carl around, actually the opposite. But Lori had remarried, and Carl just didn't feel right in the house, with all the talk about having kids again and starting a family of their own. Chances were that once Lori settled down again, the agreement would be altered once more.

Rick would make use out of every day until then.

By the time he heard the shower start up, Rick had successfully ordered the pizza. It left him with nothing to do but stare at the blank TV.

A new episode of South Park was on tonight. Rick had started a new tradition of watching with Carl around the time he’d turned 13, but it… It wasn't the same. They still filled up his DVR, Rick unable to delete them due to that little shred of hope that he could resume the original tradition of popcorn and… him.

Rick was staring absently into the middle distance when Carl came back into the living room. His son flicked his overgrown hair out of his eyes, and plopped down on the couch. 

“Here,” Carl said, tossing over the sketchbook Rick had gotten him the past Christmas. “I just finished a new drawing. I think you’ll like it.”

Opening the thick cover, Rick paged through several sketches. When he got to the last one, Rick’s heart launched into his throat. Tracing a finger over the paper, Rick whispered, “You remember this?”

“Of course,” Carl scoffed. “We had fun that day, didn’t we?”

Rick nodded. It had been a good day, but there wasn’t anything particularly special about it. They hadn’t gone anywhere, or done anything out of the ordinary; just hung around the house. Him, Carl, and Blue. Running his eyes over the picture, Rick felt his eyes start to sting. Carl had drawn the living room. Rick was sprawled across the couch sleeping, and Blue was laying across his feet. He remembered waking up that morning around 2am with a hell of a crick in his neck, and his legs numb from the knee down.

“What made you want to draw this?”

“I saw Blue a couple weeks ago. It made me remember, so I drew him.”

Carl said it so matter of factly; He couldn’t have known how it would effect Rick. Something so simple shouldn’t be able to shake a person’s foundations so easily, but here Rick sat, the equivalent of a 8.0 on the richter scale resonating through his body.

Looking at Carl, Rick’s mouth worked for a few moments before he could force himself to actually speak. “When?  _ Where?” _

Blinking up at his father, Carl shrugged. “When I went over to Mom's for the weekend, I hung out with Henry. I saw him across the street. Blue remembers me still, so I got to pet him for a little bit.”

Blue was here.  _ Daryl  _ was here.

Jumping up from the couch like Daryl was only a jog away, Rick started searching for his keys.

“Uh, Dad?”

Finding the keys on the coffee table, Rick grabbed them and ran for the door.

“Dad, what about pizza-”

Before Carl could finish his sentence, Rick was already out the door.

It left the 15 year old blinking on the couch, and eyeing the wallet his father had left behind. Well, more pizza for him.

* * *

Rick only realized what he’d done when he was in his car five miles down the road. What was he really expecting to happen? He’d drive around Henry's neighborhood, and randomly run into Daryl? At 9 o’clock at night? He pulled the car off to the side of the road, and dropped his head down onto the steering wheel. He was insane. That was the only explanation for him jumping up and leaving his teenage son home alone without a word.

Sighing heavily, Rick put the car back in gear, and started for home. At least his frantic, doomed mission to find Daryl had one upside. The pizza should be there when he got back.

* * *

It was two more weeks before Rick found any other information about Daryl. He had been driving through town aimlessly, in some desperate hope that he would see Blue, but at least this time he intended to make supper once he returned home.

Turning onto the main drag through town, Rick looked to his left, and caught a glimpse of someone he hadn’t seen in quite a while. Maneuvering the car into a parking space, Rick jogged up the sidewalk, his eyes scanning all the people he was passing. There! A flash of metal, glinting in the dim light, and reflecting off the cars lining the street.

“Tara!” Rick called, raising his hand in the air, and waving. 

Tara peered over her shoulder, her eyes widening. “Holy shit! Rick!” Running over to him, Tara balled up her fist and punched Rick on the shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for?” Rick winced, rubbing at the still tender spot. “I got shot there, you know. It’s fucking sensitive.”

Crossing her arms, Tara glared at him. “You deserved it. I thought we were friends, and I haven’t heard from you in like a million years.” She poked at Rick’s chest with an unnaturally sharp finger. “ _ And _ I invited you to my wedding, and you didn’t show. What was up with that?”

“I uh…” Rick trailed off, and shook his head, looking at Tara sheepishly. “I don’t really have a good reason. At the time, I was going through some things. Didn’t really deal with them that well.”

Surprising Rick, Tara pulled him in for a hug. “Yeah, I know," she said, thumping him lightly on the back. "I heard all about it.” 

Rick pulled back, his brow furrowed. “Heard about it? From who?”

Tara rolled her bottom lip into her mouth, and stared at the ground for a moment. When she looked up at Rick, he couldn’t quite read her expression. “From Daryl.”

For the second time in as many weeks, Rick felt his entire body turn to stone, and he felt like he was moments away from imploding. But this was good. Right? He was getting closer. Forget all about the fact that Tara had no reason to know Daryl, only Blue, this proved that he was really in town!

“Where is he?” Rick blurted out, his eyes getting wider by the second as he tried, completely in vain, to calm his thundering heart.

Tara shrugged. Fucking  _ shrugged.  _ Like this was something that could be brushed off. She crossed her arms over her chest, holding Rick’s gaze with no fear. She knew she held all the cards.

Grabbing onto her shoulders, Rick leaned in closer. “Tara, please. I fucked up. You know all about what happened, right?” Not waiting for Tara to speak, Rick continued rambling. “I fucked up so bad and I need to fix it! Where is he? Is he okay? Is he close?”

Jerking his head up, Rick scanned the crowd, like Daryl would suddenly appear out of thin air.

“Rick, chill.”

“I  _ can't  _ chill!” Rick growled, tightening his grip on Tara's shoulders more than he intended to. He was so close. Daryl was so close! Every other thought in his mind was shoved aside, all he could think about was  _ Daryl. _

“I need to know where he is, I need to talk to him, I still have his squirrel, he misses his squirrel, he has to, maybe he'll talk to me if I bri-”

A quick slap to his cheek stopped him mid-ramble. Probably for the best. Momentarily stunned, it forced Rick’s thoughts to slow down again, that Daryl-induced haze disappearing. Damn, he was desperate.

“Better?” Tara sighed, and Rick nodded numbly, unlocking his fists and releasing Tara from a possible death grip.

Glaring lightly at Rick, she poked him in the chest again. “If you think I'm gonna set you loose on him when you're acting like  _ that, _ you got another thing coming. You'll scare him, and he's had enough scary shit for two lifetimes already.”

Crossing her arms back over her chest, Tara huffed. “I'm not telling you where he is. But I  _ can  _ tell you that he's doing fine.”

Biting back a whimper, Rick nodded, even as his insides boiled. That was all anyone would tell him. That Daryl was  _ fine.  _ But Rick wasn't! All he needed was one chance, that's all he wanted. One chance to beg for forgiveness from a man he didn't deserve it from.

Tara looked over her shoulder, frowning slightly at something Rick couldn't see. “I can't stand out here all night and talk to you about it, but I know where we can.”

Perking up, Rick straightened himself. “Where? I'll do anything,” he breathed.

Tara pointed down the street, to a bar Rick had stopped at once or twice. The reasons for the stops, however, were ones he didn't want to be reminded of. Not that he'd been there in years, but still. “The Closet. I'll be there Friday night with Denise. We can talk then.”

“Friday night,” Rick repeated, burning it into his memory. That was three days from now. How was he going to get through three days?

Before he could ask to meet sooner, Tara had turned away with a wink. “I'll see you then! Don't fuck it up!”

A retort dying in his throat, Rick stood on the sidewalk, watching Tara disappear into the crowd.

Friday. He would finally know what happened on Friday. For the first time in years, Rick felt a rush of happiness run through his body, knowing that maybe, just maybe, he could fix the mistake that had haunted him for five years.

He just had to make it to Friday.


	25. A New Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick is finally given the first sight of Daryl in five years, and it takes his breath away. Now to just make sure he doesn't ruin what might be his first, last and only chance.

Tapping idly at the bar in front of him, Rick squinted at the entrance of the club. Taking in the massive man in a lime green jumpsuit, he shook his head. Definitely not Tara.

Reaching for his drink and taking a long sip, Rick sighed. He was an idiot, but what else was new? He’d been waiting for Tara and Denise for over an hour now. Once he’d gotten off work, he’d hurried home to shower, handed Carl twenty dollars for a pizza, and he was out the door. It was still daylight outside for god’s sake. Did he really think they would be here at 6 o’clock?

Draining the rest of his whiskey sour, he signaled the bartender for another one. 

Holding up one finger, the bartender gave the man sitting down at the end of the bar a quick hug, and moved towards Rick. He mixed up Rick’s drink quickly, setting it down in front of him with a flourish. “This is your third one, honey. You doing alright?”

Rick shrugged, looking up into a pair of warm brown eyes. “I guess I’ll know after the people I’m waiting for show up.”

“Well, if you need an ear before they get here, just let me know.” He pointed to the nametag on his shirt. “I’m Eric.”

“Thanks,” Rick smiled, though it felt anything but genuine on his face. “I appreciate it.”

Eric winked at him before walking away. “Anytime, Deputy.”

Rick shouldn't have been surprised, seeing as how he wasn't exactly a stranger to this part of town, and that particular bartender had always been a bit of a flirt, but his mouth dropped open anyway. Shaking his head, Rick stared into the glass.

Any moment now, his life could change. He could see those blue eyes that had never left his dreams The hypnotic eyes that paralyzed Rick whenever they gazed his way. He still remembered the thickness of Daryl's hair, wild even after countless attempts at brushing it down. The wide shoulders brimming with power, that certainly wouldn't change. A shudder ran down his spine before he forced away the fantasy always waiting for him. Focus, Rick. You need to focus.

Lifting up his drink, a weight slammed into his shoulder, causing him to lose about half the liquid inside.

“Sorry!” Denise squeaked, already grabbing at random napkins to wipe away the spill. Rick just watched with blank eyes, wondering how he’d missed them walking in. Or why Denise had run into him at all.

Seeing Tara snickering a few feet away, Rick grinned.

“How long have you been here, man?” Tara asked as she jumped onto the bar stool next to Rick. Denise, still apologizing, took the spot next to Tara, her face turning a familiar deep red.

“Long enough,” Rick said, setting his half empty glass onto the bar and stretching.

Eric sashayed back to their side of the bar, grinning widely at Tara and Denise. They were obviously regulars, not surprising Rick in the least.

This  _ was  _ the only gay bar in 200 miles after all.

Rick forced himself to be patient as Tara and Denise chatted with Eric, gushing over something or other that Rick didn't understand, if only because of the music. That was another reason Rick hated bars. How was  _ anyone  _ supposed to talk and be understood with the music cranked up so high?

“So,” Tara smirked as she took a quick sip of her drink, watching Rick out of the corner of her eye. Smacking her lips, she set down the glass. “You want to know what Daryl's been up to?”

“Pretty desperately, if I’m honest,” Rick admitted. “The only person I know that has had contact with him is Negan, and he’s not talking.”

Tara snorted. “No, he wouldn’t say anything.” She looked Rick up and down, taking in the bags under his eyes, and the beard that he knew really needed a trim. “I shouldn’t say anything either, but I got a soft spot for you, Rick. And Denise thinks you’re cute.”

A strangled squeak flew out of Denise’s mouth, and she thumped her head down on the bar. “I don’t think he’s cute, oh my god, I just happened to say something about how he and Daryl would look cute together, and that if it were possible for them to have kids they’d be even cuter-”

Reaching over, Tara slid her hand across Denise’s mouth. “Hush, baby, you’re doing the ramble thing again.”

Denise grabbed Tara’s hand before she could pull it away, and pressed a kiss into the palm. “Thanks.”

Rick clenched his fingers on his thigh, and tried not to look impatient. “So?” he asked, looking between both women. “Are you going to tell me where he is?”

“I’m not gonna give you his address or anything like that, geez, Rick. Boundaries, dude.” After exchanging a loaded look with Denise, Tara seemed to make up her mind. She nodded, and smiled. “I  _ will _ tell you where he’s gonna be in a couple of weeks.”

When Tara didn’t continue immediately, Rick’s fingers dug into his thigh even harder. He took a few deep breaths before he spoke, trying to keep the desperation he was feeling out of his voice. “And that is?”

“My place,” Tara smirked. “There’s gonna be an award ceremony thing. We’re really putting it on ourselves. As of last month, over a thousand dogs have been trained by me.” Tara’s eyes shifted off to the side, and she fidgeted in her seat. “And others.”

“It’s a pretty big achievement,” Denise added, laying a hand on Tara's arm and squeezing softly. “When she opened, Tara’s parents told her the business would fail in the first year.” Denise smiled adoringly at Tara. “But it’s been going strong for 14 years now. So, screw them.”

“Damn right,” Tara said, threading her fingers with Denise’s.

“What time should I be there?”

* * *

Rick couldn't remember the last time he'd had to wear something nice. Maybe Shane’s wedding. Even though it was rather rushed; he and Andrea had foregone the normal ceremony and instead had it at the courthouse. Maybe it was spur of the moment, and maybe Rick had his doubts that it would last, but he was happy to be proven wrong.

Just yesterday, Shane had been about to burst with excitement, saying that Andrea wanted to have another baby. Rick tried his best to be enthusiastic, but it only further proved how alone Rick was. Now that Shane was busy with his growing family, it was back to just Rick and Carl.

Straightening his tie in the mirror, Rick sucked in a deep breath. He needed to stay calm. If he scared Daryl off now, he could lose his only chance to reclaim that light at the end of his tunnel. If Daryl even wanted him at all.

Clenching at his tie, Rick forced himself to release it before he could choke himself. Relax. This night wasn't about him anyway. It was about Tara and Denise.

Taking one last look at his reflection, and the beard that took entirely too long to tame, Rick wished himself luck. He was going to need it.

Carl was spending the weekend at his mother's house, leaving Rick with much needed privacy just in case… well, anything. In case he needed another night to cry himself to sleep.

The nearly hour long drive to Tara and Denise’s ranch, as they had expanded their land in the past few years, felt more like an entire day. All that time, though, he thought only of Daryl.

Five years was a long time for anyone. It was even  _ longer  _ for someone starting nearly from scratch on how to be human. The thought of Merle being Daryl's guardian and tutor for his human experience left a foul taste in his mouth. What had he been thinking?

Sure, Merle had cleaned up after rotting in jail for years, but that was because he had people like Dale looking after him. Free from their town, Merle could easily slip back into his old ways. Letting him influence someone like Daryl was like dumping him off to a crack house.

Rick shuddered and tightened his hands on the steering wheel. No, he had to have faith that Daryl knew better. He was a damn drug sniffing dog. A police dog.  _ Military. _ That had to count for something.

As he drove in to the parking area, Rick swallowed. They’d turned the empty field next to the normal parking area into an overflow lot, and it was full to the brim. People were getting out of cars still, and Rick couldn’t help but notice all the dogs. Most wore service vests, some of them aging and graying at the muzzle, probably retired police dogs.

Of course Tara's former 'students' would be invited. This was a night to celebrate the lives she’d changed through her work. But with so many people, it would only make it that much harder for Rick to find Daryl. It was too late to back down now, and Rick gave himself a quick shake, and stepped out of his car, making his way inside the main training building.

As soon as he stepped inside, Rick was overwhelmed. All the training equipment had been hauled out, leaving space for chairs and a makeshift stage at the far end. This must be a much bigger deal than he had expected. From what Tara had said, it sounded more like a get together for the owners of her dogs. Though he expected the room to be obscenely loud with barks from the dogs, there was only the hum of conversation.

If anything, it was almost like the dogs were not there. They simply sat beside their masters, waiting to fulfill their duty. Though as he stared at the dogs, he began to wonder if maybe Daryl wasn't here as  _ Daryl  _ at all.

Taking a quick glance around, Rick found no one he knew. Great. Unease prickled through his body as he slunk his way towards the far right, close to the exit if he needed the chance to bail. There was food set out, for both people and canine alike, but Rick’s stomach was too busy flopping about to be filled.

Taking a seat at the back of the room, Rick tried to calm himself. If he was still all jittery and nervous when he got to see Daryl again,  _ if _ he got to see Daryl again, there was no telling what would come out of his mouth. Rick had only just managed to slow his racing heartbeat when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

“What the fuck are  _ you _ doing here?”

Wincing at the fingers tightening on his shoulder, Rick looked up into Negan’s scowling face. “Hello, Negan. You know Tara and Denise?”

Negan sat down a few seats away, eyeing Rick suspiciously the whole time. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah. Daryl introduced us.”

Rick nodded, taking in the sight of Negan in a suit. He wore it well, and a few years ago Rick would have been panting at the first glimpse of the man. Now though, it did nothing for him. All of his thoughts were centered on Daryl. The thought of him in a suit? Rick’s cheeks flushed involuntarily. He probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to see Daryl in a suit. That image didn’t fit with the man Rick had known.

“They’re wonderful people. When Tara told me about this,” Rick gestured around at the bright decorations on the walls, “I knew I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Uh huh,” Negan scowled. “And you definitely didn’t come because you thought Daryl was going to be here.”

Rick’s flush deepened. “That’s a bonus. I would’ve come either way.”

“Sure you would, Rick. I  _ totally _ believe you.”

“Believe me or don’t, I don’t really give a shit,” Rick shot back, the flush in his cheeks going from embarrassed to angry in a split second. “You’ve given me nothing but grief for the last five years. Just because I did what I thought was best. Was it a mistake? Yes, it fucking was, but I don’t need you rubbing it in my face.”

Negan rubbed a finger over his thickening beard, and his smile was all teeth. “At least you admitted you were wrong. I never took you for someone that refused to claim responsibility for your actions, but that’s what you’ve been doing for the past five years.”

“I tried to fix it, but he was already gone.” Rick fidgeted with the cufflinks on his suit. “If you’d told me where he went, this could’ve been fixed years ago.”

“Some things take time, Rick,” Negan said, his smile widening to epic proportions. “Speaking of things taking time. I have to tell someone, and since you used to be my favorite neighbor, and you did me a few favors back in the day, I’ll tell you.” Leaning in close, Negan spoke almost directly into Rick’s ear. “Lucy’s gonna have a baby.”

When Negan pulled back, Rick could see absolute blinding happiness radiating from him. Raising a hand, and feeling an answering smile growing on his own face, Rick clasped Negan’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m really happy for you both. I know that’s something you’ve wanted for a long time.”

Negan’s grin somehow widened even more, and he nodded. “Shit, we fucking gave up years ago,” he laughed. “Thought maybe my shit didn't work anymore. Best fucking accident of my life.”

Chuckling, Rick gave him one more pat. “Everything going well?” he asked, hoping for a positive answer. He could normally tell when Negan was lying, but if he was ready to start telling people, then that had to be good news.

“Docs checked her head to toe. She just hit three months today.” With every word, Negan seemed more and more likely to burst with pride, moments away from shouting out the good news to whoever would listen.

Rick understood why Negan had been waiting to tell anyone, knowing their history. They probably had tests to do, to make sure everything was safe… Negan was nothing if not thorough.

“I'm happy for both of you. I hope everything goes well, and I'm available for babysitting.”

Negan let out another booming laugh. “There's no fucking way that kid is gonna touch the  _ ground.  _ Lucy's got me waiting on her hand and foot. She's got like six different pregnancy books she's got memorized, and I’m pretty sure she ain't gonna let the baby out of her sight from the moment it's born.”

Rick felt some of the anxiety trickle out of him, slowly being replaced with Negan’s infectious happiness. There seemed to be good news for everyone lately. Hopefully some of it would rub off on him.

“Is she here?” Rick asked, peering over Negan's shoulder as if she could just be hiding behind him.

Negan shook his head. “Nah, she wanted to, but her ‘morning sickness’ ain't so morning friendly after all. Poor darling gets it bad at night, so just to be safe, she's at home resting it off.”

Rick winced, reminded of his own struggles with Lori. She’d had a near perfect first three months before the morning sickness hit her hard. Rick had to take off work just to stay and watch over her at points. “Saltines are the way to go,” Rick smiled. “And ginger. I’ve got some tea at home I can give her.”

“Yeah, but she's tough. I almost had to pin her down to make her stay home.” Sighing softly, Negan grabbed his phone from his pocket, his smile lessening slightly before turning into a frown.

“Go ahead, tell her congrats for me,” Rick prompted, seeing Negan’s shoulders sag with relief. With one last grin, the other man worked his way out of the chairs and walked to the exit, phone already pressed to his ear.

Now alone, Rick let his eyes lazily scan the crowd. Daryl had to be here somewhere. Just have to look for that hair… Hopefully he hadn't cut it. Rick liked that ‘wild’ look on him, even if it wasn't purposeful.

His search was driven to a halt when someone walked onto the stage, reaching the podium, and tapping lightly on the microphone. Apparently the ceremony was about to begin. He hadn’t even noticed the seats around him filling up.

Rick made sure to place his jacket down next to him to save Negan's spot, letting his focus stay on the stage. He was happy for Tara and Denise. This was a huge accomplishment for them, training so many dogs that helped so many people.

It started slow, like most ceremonies do. Describing the award, thanking whoever helped put the show together, all that. The entire time, he couldn't pick out Tara and Denise from the crowd. Maybe they were somewhere else.

Negan came back halfway through the introduction, much more relaxed now that he’d had a chance to talk with his wife. He, too, seemed to be looking for their hosts.

Then, finally, it was time to present the award.

On the right side of the stage, Rick could finally see three people walking up the steps. The first two he easily recognized as Tara and Denise, Tara wearing a suit and Denise a lovely dress, but it was the third person that made his world grind to a halt.

Daryl.

Rick’s heart surged up into his throat, and his pants tightened simultaneously. Daryl was in a  _ suit. _ A well made, very expensive suit that accented the width of his shoulders, and highlighted his narrow waist. His fingers tightening on the seat of the chair, Rick bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood.

“Cleans up nicely, doesn’t he?” Negan whispered.

Rick nodded dumbly, unable to articulate what the first sight of Daryl in five long years was doing to him.

His hair was shorter, less ragged, but still long, and it framed his face perfectly. The beard was less ragged, as well. Neatly trimmed, and Rick found himself wondering what it would feel like rasping along his neck, or, even more indecently, along the inside of his thighs.

Tara was saying something now, but Rick’s eyes were still on Daryl. Tracing up the length of his legs, and taking in the way the fabric of the pants strained over Daryl’s thighs. Rick nearly melted into his chair when Daryl curled his fingers around the microphone, and brought it to his mouth. If you asked him later, he couldn’t have told you a single word Daryl said, but Rick listened intently to every one. Daryl’s voice was the same, but completely different. The low rasp that Rick dreamed about, the one that sent goosebumps flooding over his entire body, was still present, but there wasn’t a lingering shred of timidity. He was confident, sure of his place in the world, strong, and completely at ease speaking in front of a roomful of people.

The Daryl he’d known five years ago would never have been able to do this.

It felt like as soon as Daryl took the stage, as soon as Rick heard his voice, he was gone. Disappeared into the crowd off the left side of the stage. Rick would’ve jumped out of his seat to catch any trailing sight, had Negan not grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back down.

“Not yet,” Negan rumbled, warning lacing his tone.

Rick still couldn't find his ability to form words, so he nodded. He had to wait. Maybe he could find Daryl alone. Did Daryl even see him in the crowd?

He could have  _ sworn  _ Daryl had seen him, but if he had, he didn’t acknowledge it. His eyes passed over Rick like he was just another man in the crowd. Had Rick changed? Would Daryl not recognize him?

No, he had to. Rick had to believe that he was still important to Daryl in some way.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, with Rick constantly replaying those precious minutes in his mind. Daryl’s deep voice, silky, dark hair, those mysterious eyes that could stop a heart midbeat… Daryl was somehow  _ more  _ than everything he dreamed of. And that was from a hundred feet away.

It wasn't until people started getting out of their chairs that Rick snapped back to reality. Negan stood up as well and clapped a hand onto Rick’s shoulder. “Well, Ricky, good luck and all that shit. I'm being summoned to grab pistachio ice cream on the way home and I can't keep a lady waiting,” Negan chuckled, already walking past Rick.

“H-have fun,” Rick stammered out, his sluggish mind unable to think of anything else. Rick could feel his IQ dropping with every replay of Daryl’s speech. Getting to his feet was almost more trouble than it was worth, and he had to strategically position his jacket on his arm to cover any remnant of his reaction, but Rick trudged onward.

Now, where would Daryl go…

His first instinct was for food. Daryl always seemed to be hungry. With one quick scan over the group of people, though, he found no one matching Daryl's shoulders.

Maybe getting drinks? No, he wasn't over there either.

Sneaking his way up further and further through the crowd, Rick finally came across a gathering of people all circled around something. Squeezing his way through the people, Rick stumbled to a stop. A German shepherd stood in the center, tall and focused.

And there, standing inches away from the dog, was Daryl. He was right there. Rick could even touch him if he wanted to break through the crowd.

But instead he watched as Daryl whistled sharply, and the dog jerked to attention. Their eyes were locked together, man and beast. That same focus he had seen in Blue's eyes so many years ago now was mirrored in Daryl. The show had only just begun, though, as Daryl started the commands. The very same Rick would give to Blue while on duty together.

They were all performed perfectly, one by one under Daryl's control, and ended with Daryl tapping his hands to his chest, only for the dog to leap up and be caught expertly into his arms, front paws standing on Daryl's shoulder to gain a better vantage. Soon, much too soon, it was over and the dog returned to his owner's side. The crowd started to disperse and it was only now that Rick noticed Tara standing right beside Daryl.

The final few feet between him and Daryl seemed to take an eternity to cross, but suddenly there he was. Rick hugged Tara, murmuring praise in her ear, physically unable to take his eyes off Daryl. His heart was racing so fast that he feared Tara would feel it through his chest. Daryl wasn't looking at him, instead his focus was on a collie with a service animal vest, murmuring soft words of praise and running his hand along its back.

When Rick finally pulled back from Tara, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. His mouth worked soundlessly for several moments, while Tara glanced between him and Daryl. Her lips pulling down into a frown, she grabbed each of them by the arm, and dragged them towards an unoccupied corner.

“I think you two have some things to say to each other,” Tara nodded, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

Daryl growled at her, and said something Rick didn’t quite catch about scooper duty. Once Tara walked away, Daryl finally met his eyes. They were carefully composed, his face neutral, and Rick felt a piece of his heart crack beneath that impassive gaze.

His stomach hovering somewhere around his throat, Rick did his best to choke it back, and said, “She’s right. There are things that need to be said.”

An arched eyebrow was Daryl’s only response.

Tugging at his curls, Rick swore softly. “I had so many things I wanted to say to you, and now that you’re standing in front of me I can’t remember a damn one.”

Rick thought he saw a slight twitch of Daryl’s mouth, before it settled back into that same thin line. “Now ain’t the time no matter what Tara thinks.” Daryl’s eyes drilled into Rick’s, and Rick tried to stop himself from bursting into tears.

“I-I- Shit, when?” Rick stammered, hoping with everything he had that Daryl didn’t mean they shouldn’t talk at all.

Glancing at the crowd, and giving someone a smile and a wave, Daryl turned back to Rick. “There’s a coffee place ‘bout a mile down the road. Meet me there. Sunday at three o’clock.”

Rick nodded, the wave of relief running through his body nearly enough to knock him over. “I’ll be there.”

His eyes sweeping up and down Rick’s body, Daryl grunted, then melted back into the crowd.

Gripping his watch tightly, Rick prayed for time to pass quickly. 


End file.
